Love Island
For many Brits of a certain age, the launch of the latest Love Island trailer is the bat signal that summer is truly starting. Whatever the weather, every July between 2015 to 2019, when Caroline Flack promised me a “long, hot, summer”, I knew I was in for one.
From the moment the first episode aired, it was – to borrow a phrase from the show’s lexicon – a bit of me. It spoke to my preference for reality television messiness: sun, singletons and a smoking area specifically dedicated to bitchy conversations.
Even when it made the jump from an ITV2 throwaway with a small but loyal following to a national obsession, it still kept me more than occupied on summer nights, long after it jumped the shark. Perhaps this is one of the reasons viewers failed to warm to last year’s winter series: part of the original appeal was viewers’ ability to enjoy a summer fling, making holiday mates and memories from the comfort of our sofas. There probably isn’t a reality TV show that millennials have lived through quite so vicariously, from the heartbreaks to the giddy excitement over a long-awaited text.
It will never, for lack of the perfectly cast Flack, be the same again. But even now, when I hear the EDM theme song, I think of sunnier, better days. Yomi Adegoke
The OC
Welcome to The OC beach: watch the opening credits of the soapy mid-00s drama – on Amazon Prime in the UK – and it feels like flipping through postcards from a deluxe surfing holiday, all big skies, rolling breakers and baking sand. Never mind the fact that the headlong parade of hookups and breakdowns mostly unfolds in spotless school corridors, enviably spacious kitchens and cool private poolhouses. Viewed from the permanently drab UK, affluent Orange County looked like summer all year round, the scorching climate at least partially offset by the amount of shade being thrown.
There was even a character called Summer (Rachel Bilson), a self-centred teen who, over the course of four seasons, managed to advance through something resembling a plausible emotional arc, maturing from spoiled princess to conscientious activist. Bilson’s appealing performance might be why I will always associate The OC with summer even if the show often skipped California’s hottest months, preferring to map its seasons and storylines to the school calendar to maximise the drama.
But thanks to a series of indie-centric soundtrack CDs featuring Spoon, the Walkmen and more, I could keep that sweet OC vibe rolling through my own overcast Scottish summers – even if I never quite dared to rock a surfer bead necklace of my own. Graeme Virtue
Broad City
I was experiencing a New York summer for the first time, having moved there a couple of months before it got swelteringly hot, just before the sudden storms started to break with alarming regularity. It was intoxicatingly busy and new: there was always someone to see or something to do, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that I had gone to sleep one night and woken up on a film set.
In my room one evening, I turned on the TV and saw the city streets outside on the screen, on a show called Broad City. I found the entire first season on demand, and quickly devoured it all.
The freedom of it was pure joy. Abby and Ilana tore around the city, in search of cash, or weed, or even just a package from the postal service. Minor obstacles got in the way of their plans, which never quite came to fruition. It didn’t matter. They had sex, got high, went to work, schemed, Skyped and seemed ecstatic to be alive. It was a tribute to the irresponsibility of one’s 20s and to the liberty of running around during long, light nights, with not much else to think about but the moment. That seems like the best kind of summer – one that passes in a hazy, happy blur. Rebecca Nicholson
Parks and Recreation
Watching Parks and Recreation is like going to summer camp: you get to hang out with a bunch of misfits who soon become your best mates and you’re eager to return as soon as it’s finished. Most of all, this hilarious mockumentary (think of it as a cuddlier version of The Office) about a shambolic but well-meaning parks department in the fictional town of Pawnee, Indiana, is a hell of a lot of fun.
Parks and Rec is a show I return to again and again because it’s just so cheerful and upbeat: there’s not one dark bone in its comedy body, unless you count snarky intern April Ludgate (Aubrey Plaza). Then there’s Leslie Knope, Amy Poehler’s relentlessly optimistic deputy director. She is the perky ray of sunshine who warms everyone around her and is surely one of the greatest sitcom characters ever created. From cajoling a grumpy, steak-loving Ron Swanson (Nick Offerman) into doing something he doesn’t want to do, to praising her best friend Ann Perkins (Rashida Jones) in increasingly inventive ways, she is a constant delight.
Even on the dreariest days, the show never fails to brighten my mood. It’s a life-affirming series about friendship, love and community that gets funnier with each season. One that distills the very essence of what a good summer is: great people, good laughs, and excessive talk about grilling meat. Ann Lee
Doc Martin
Right about now I ought to be looking forward to – but am instead ruing the cancellation of – my annual trip to Cornwall. I cannot stress enough that I am not a second-homer, spending summer crashing through hedgerows in a Range Rover Vogue with a lemon V-neck tied round my shoulders and a belly full of Rick Stein’s salty oysters. On the contrary, I was brought up there. It’s home. My love is real, so any programme featuring Cornwall is a thrill. Channel 4’s self-explanatory documentary series Devon and Cornwall is objectively quite boring but it does it for me, and I used to go potty for Poldark – not just at the topless scything, but also whenever someone said they were “going Truro”.
Top of my list, however, is Doc Martin, ITV’s long-running comedy drama starring Martin Clunes as a rude physician in a lovely coastal village. It is pitched exactly in the right spot between recognisable Cornishness and sanitised TV fantasy, the latter you can easily overlook if you only get back there once a year. Yes, it’s gently plotted, and everyone talks in a Weston-super-Mare accent for some reason, but it has all the winding streets, clifftop gales and twinkling harbour sunsets a reluctant exile could want. I bleddy love it, now more than ever. Jack Seale
Queer Eye
What is summer without a makeover? As the biting cold gives way to rain and the occasional smattering of sunshine, it is time to dust off that garish holiday wardrobe and dress for the summer you want, not the summer you have. And no one does the chrysalis-to-butterfly makeover quite like Queer Eye and the Fab Five.
Rebooted in 2018 from the stereotype-heavy early 00s series Queer Eye for the Straight Guy, our five lifestyle consultants – Karamo on “culture”, Bobby on design, Tan on fashion, Antoni on cooking and Jonathan on grooming – have become a heartwarming staple of my summer.
There is the optimistic practicality of Bobby, who will over the course of a week transform your home and workplace with just a splash of paint and a few well-placed hanging plants; Tan’s no-frills fashion (always a printed shirt with a French tuck); Karamo’s infinite generation of inspirational quotes; and even Antoni’s haphazard enthusiasm for the most basic foods (guacamole with yogurt in it … ). But it is Jonathan Van Ness in whom summer is best encapsulated; bursting with finger-snapping positivity, he is the empowering grooming expert we all need to tell us we are fabulous each morning in front of the bathroom mirror. Yes, it’s mightily over the top, but such is the essence of summer: one too many margaritas, one too many romances, just don’t forget to put on your SPF! Ammar Kalia
