THERE’S nothing like a heatwave to bring out the Brit in us. The other day, waiting for a train, I saw a middle-aged couple saunter across the platform, both wearing skimpy shorts, vests and flip-flops, slurping ice-creams. They'd have looked at home on a beach.

They were ‘Brits abroad’ - in Leeds.

It was a sweltering day; one of those days with a hot stillness filling the air, and it occurred to me that if you give folk a bit of sunshine they’ll use it as an excuse to mooch around as if they’re on holiday, exposing as much flesh as they can get away with. It’s fine if you’re in the back garden or on an actual beach, but there are some places - like railways stations, supermarkets and shopping centres - where I think it’s inappropriate.

It only takes a glimmer of sun for men of all shapes and sizes to decide they look great shirtless. Off come their tops, as they wander around city centres, revealing pasty, clammy torsos for all to see. Put your shirt on, man, you’re not in Ayia Napa!

It goes without saying that for anyone riding a quad bike (another summer ritual) it’s obligatory to be shirtless, and to wrap a sweaty bandana mask around your face.

Women too go all Californian beach babe when the sun is out. I saw a young mother in a bikini top and cut-off denim shorts traipsing around a shop recently. Her child was strapped into pushchair, wearing a coat and woolly tights, hot and uncomfortable.

Inappropriate dress is just one of the ways we Brits behave when the sun comes out. Others include:

* Impromptu barbecues. It’s hot out there, so let’s make it even hotter by firing up a grill in the garden and laying more burgers than anyone will eat on it. I’m generally regarded as a social pariah at barbecues because I don’t eat meat - there’s something primal about cooking on fire, and veggie sausages and mini corn-on-the-cobs don’t really cut it - but I like the social gathering aspect, and the cold beer.

* Talking about how hot it is - and complaining that it’s too hot. “Is it warm enough for you?” “It’s going to be hotter than Ibiza tomorrow.” “I’m sweating cobs.” “It’s a scorcher, I bet you could fry an egg on a car bonnet”, “I like it warm, but not this warm!” and “Where are my flip-flops?” are top comments during a mini heatwave.

* Head for the coast. It doesn’t matter that everyone else has the same idea, because there’s nothing nicer on a blistering hot day than sitting in slow-moving traffic on a motorway surrounded by loads of other cars full of bad-tempered people. If you do finally make it to the coast, head straight for an overcrowded beach, where you’ll find a space the size of a hankie to sit with your fractious family, and no shade. You might venture into the sea to cool off, then you’ll remember this isn’t Zakynthos, it’s Scarborough, and the sea is so cold it turns your toes blue.

* Daytime drinking. It’s hot, the air is filled with the aroma of char-grilled supermarket burgers, so you spend the afternoon glugging your body weight in rhubarb gin. By 7pm you’re either asleep, or thrashing about to Ibiza anthems on the lawn.

* Dither over whether to take your coat out. “It might rain.” “Will it rain?” “I think it’s forecast rain.” “Well, we can’t have two days of sunshine without a thunder storm...”

Welcome to British summer time. We wouldn’t have it any other way.