I don’t care what the weatherman says

Most entertaining weather forecast on telly? For my money, it has to be the week-long forecast on the BBC’s ‘CountryFile‘. Even now, with all the world’s 21st Century scientific know-how at their disposal, forecasters still struggle to predict anything very meaningful further than about four days ahead.

But what we like about the Countryfile approach isn’t the accuracy. It’s the dress code. After the main news bulletin, the weather, both local and national, is presented by people in more or less formal attire. On Countryfile though, the same presenter returns, only this time they are usually wearing jeans. We, however, are no more fooled than when we see world leaders wearing similar casual clothes, as they try to pretend they have the ‘common touch’.

With its relaxed attitude to clothing, we also feel the Countryfile weather forecast has a more nonchalant feel than any other forecast. It’s like a kind of Hey, weather’s gonna happen: deal with it sort of vibe. Or to put it another way…

Monsoon? Meh!
Cyclone? C’est la vie 🙂
Hurricane? What hurricane?

Oops, I forgot, that one really happened once a few years ago. Maybe if Michael Fish had been wearing flip-flops and a Hawaiian shirt, nobody would have minded. Then again…


Il pleut

Be honest. What do you think of the French?

Me? I think they’re a nation of lovely warm-hearted people. But their language? Well, it is, in one word, namby-pamby. Here’s why.

This morning at 2:30am, to cut a long cliche short, the heavens opened. No exaggeration: this was by far the most fierce (and fearsome) rainstorm we have experienced for several years. It was like waking up inside one of those Karcher pressure washers they’re always banging on about on the shopping channel. The noise was like an Olympic-sized car park full of turbo-engined Hummers all revving up at once. Waffle Towers was battered for over a quarter of an hour as the rain lashed down without mercy. And through it all, the French language came to mind, and I finally decided what I thought about it:

The well-worn French phrase for this morning’s weather is “Il pleut”. (It’s pronounced ‘il pleut’.)

And basically, ‘Il pleut’ just doesn’t cut it. Not in this day and age. And certainly not in this weather. It is, as the French themselves might say, pathetique. 🙂

Anyway, we’ve all just about recovered by now. But tonight, we’ll be taking brollies to bed, just in case il decides to pleut all over again. Zut alors!