The Gathering Storm
To: The Meteorological Office,
London
Sir,
I am, on most occasions, the most equable of men. Stand on my foot and I will smile lamely and apologise. Kill my gerbil and I will explain that he had been feeling unwell, and therefore gerbicide was the kindest thing.
But this morning, I am not equable. I am very unequable. In fact, I’d go so far as to say I am disequable.
Yesterday evening, as I was taking Tiffin, a report on the wireless warned, with Churchillian gravity, that a “severe weather event” was approaching the British Isles. Not being a man to take lightly anything which comes from the British Broadcasting Corporation (The Weakest Link being an understandable exception), I sprang from my chaise longue and made for the nearest Tesco sharpish. There, without giving the slightest impression of panic buying, I purchased 700 tins of lentil soup and four hundred weight of toilet rolls. Apart from giving the girl on checkout a mild seizure, these purchases caused no inconvenience to anyone in the store. Getting them on the bus was another thing. I returned home and all hatches were battened down in preparation for blizzards, drifiting snow and the crack of doom.
Can I for a moment, divert your attention from this tale of exemplary forward planning and direct your gaze to the sky? You will note its cerulean qualities, the fluffiness of the clouds and the seagulls lazily circling the local dump. On the ground, the icy remains of the weekend’s cold snap have joined forces with the grit belatedly scattered by the council to form a pleasing rhubarb crumble effect. A light drizzle is falling and temperatures are positively balmy.
AND YOU CALL THIS A SEVERE WEATHER EVENT?????
Forgive me for resorting to the upper case, but desperate times require capitals. I realise that most of you who are employed by the Met Office are there only because you couldn’t get on The X Factor. But deficiencies in the tonsil department are no grounds for inflicting your bumbling efforts at cod science on the rest of us.
I am not willing to let things lie, and I am therefore in pursuance of compensation. Let me assure you, I am a man not without connections, and I shall be writing forthwith, if not sooner, to the clerk of the council refuse disposal committee (ex officio), who I understand is very intimate with the mayor's wife - if you get my drift.
However, this morning I shall be making my daily visit to my local turf accountant. Should I receive forthwith, if not sooner, a copper-bottom guarantee of an accurate forecast for a white Christmas, I am willing to let the matter end there. A satisfactory outcome on December 25. may also put me in the position of being able to supply your office with a generous quantity of toilet rolls.
I remain yours, etc, etc.