WEATHERWISE

Posted at 12:35

The family gathered in the lounge to watch the weather forecast. It was a big event these days and people tended to arrange their commitments around it, often serving Turkish delight, sherry and brandy snaps, that sort of thing. The latest HD, digital, wide screen, slimline TV took longer to warm up than their old valve driven Bush model, but this didn’t prevent a rising tide of euphoria filling the room.

“It’s starting love!” cried Dad.

“I’ll be there in a minute” replied Mum.

“Hey! There’s supposed to be two presenters tonight” said young Ben.

“Two? What the hell for?”

“Well, it’s like reading the news and presenting children’s telly. The job’s too hard for just one person and what with all the spare money we’ve all got these days the bosses thought it best.”

“Right”.

First came the sponsorship ads; Rainy Day Umbrellas, Cool Cat Sunglasses, Percy Pig Pork Pies and One-a-Day Vitamin Bricks. For fifteen minutes Mum carefully watched and made notes for the following day’s shopping and then a trumpet fanfare, followed by two drum solos and a thirty-second recorded firework display, finally heralded the main event.

“Whoopie!” yelled young Betty.

“Quiet in the cheap seats” growled Grandpa, in his corner.

Two searchlights picked out the drawling American impresario.

“Ladies and Gentlemen-n-n-n-n-n-n-n. We now come to the highlight of the evening, a super-middleweight forecast for the United Kingdom-m-m-m-m-m-m. Introducing in the blue corner, with five correct predictions out of one hundred attempts – William... Wet and Windy... Wallis-s-s-s-s-s-s.

“Hooray! Hooray!”

“Poor bloke’s got a speech impediment” said Grandpa

“Shush Grandpa!”

And in the red corner, challenging for the UK title and already European performing prima donna of the year, having a perfect record of absolutely no correct predictions in a professional career spanning fifteen glorious years – Jasmine... Jolly Jumpers... Jack-s-s-s-s-son.

“Hooray! Hooray!”

Then the preliminaries began, the two forecasters twirling and preening for the cameras, their hair extensions shining with good health and their makeup applied with Punch and Judy puppet precision. Jasmine cleverly attracted the attention of the director to her new engagement ring (why didn’t those pesky viewers hurry up with her presents?), while William subtly lifted the tails of his morning suit and wiggled his ‘buns’ at the audience.

“That bloke’s got a fat arse” said Grandpa.

“You need your glasses changing” observed Mum.

“Aye. Yes please, another Brown Ale would go down very nicely, thanks”.

It was time for the news presenters to get involved now, and Cheshire Cat #1 soon had everyone laughing hysterically about his last perfect score on ‘Strictly Come Prancing’, while Cheshire Cat #2 reminisced tearfully about her failure to reach the televised rounds of ‘Celebrity Hex Factor’. Unfortunately, viewing figures were finally going down for these two shows, because most of the UK population were now starring in reality TV themselves. There were very few ordinary people left to watch. Everybody was a genius (went to university), a celebrity (had their pubic hair shaved off for charity) or a hero (they were too ‘challenged’ to do anything but procreate).

“I remember these two newsreaders. It’s Mork and Mindy isn’t it?”

“Be quiet Grandpa”.

“Or is it Dork and Windy?”

“Shut up!”

“Laurel and …..”

By this time there was so much badinage and merriment in the studio that the director had to step in with buckets of cold water to separate the orgiastic foursome before one of them soiled themselves. The grinning Cheshire cats were joined by a tiny sports presenter who leered madly at the cameras, whilst trying to draw attention to his latest CV, that was somewhat cleverly typed in 26pt Ariel Bold.

“Ha, ha, ha, ha. You are a wit William."

“Tee hee hee hee hee. But not as funny as you Jasmine."

"You were so good on ‘Strictly’ Micky."

“I’m such a liberal too”.

“I love you”.

“I love me”.

“We love everybody (as long as somebody else is paying for it)”

A tall man in white flannels then came in with some orange juice and bananas on a tray and the forecast fiasco took a commercial break.

* * *

By the following morning the commercial break had just about finished and it was time for the family to climb out of their sleeping bags and see what the weather had in store for them. It was a well established meteorological practice by this time to actually wait for the weather to actually occur before predicting it – the cutting edge conclusion of a three and a half million pound computer technology investment programme, begun in 2011.

“For those of you interested in the indoor snooker tournament in Hong Kong we have bravely flown out to give you the most accurate information possible” said Jasmine in her new sequinned bikini. This will be followed by further self-sacrificial flights around the world to ensure we meet our broadcasting obligations to you - the paying public. We will pause only to pick up twenty odd well known but declining TV celebrities who are currently in need of well deserved free holidays... er... I mean who are currently filming travelogues.”

“Oh for the love of God, what’s the weather going to be like?” said Grandpa, wafting away the overnight fart gas from his trousers.

“Stop distracting us Grandpa” said young Betty.

After Jasmine had thoroughly discussed yesterday’s weather in Portugal, South Africa, Mexico and the South of France with appropriate personal anecdotes, the forecast moved on to the newly popular ‘records’ section. If a new weather record had not been broken, this would in itself be a record event.

“Upper Nether Thornton in Wessex had the most rainfall over a ten minute period since records began last month” announced William.

“Lower Nether Thornton had more wind from a North by North-West direction since the Middle Ages” trumped Jasmine.

“I’m making a record with Simon Cowell” gloated William.

Then came the viewers’ photographs section, including a wonderful outdoor shot of the South Downs in the cold depths of Winter.

“But it’s only the beginning of August, William” said Jasmine.

“I know, but my house is on this one” replied William

“What’s happened to ‘Emmerdale Farm’?” said Grandpa thinking he recognised the old country cottage and was now watching the Yorkshire based soap.

“They’ve obviously moved it down to London” advised Mum.

“Oh. I was quite enjoying that storyline about the ethnic, dyslexic, gay lovers who’d just had a car crash.”

“They're getting married in hospital with matching duvets”.

“Touching”.

“Yes, there will be plenty of that, no doubt”.

The dramatic conclusion of the forecast programme was now drawing near and the family shuffled forward onto the edge of their seats in anticipation. The studio lights dimmed and William moved to centre stage looking a bit like Al Jolson singing ‘Mammy’.

“Well, as for the much awaited UK forecast, viewers who really want to know, can get an update on my new awesome blog……..”

“What the fu..???” bellowed Grandpa.

“’Bye for now. We’ll see you again for the next show… er… forecast in half an hour”.

The presenters then joined hands in a recreation of the famous Tiller Girls Palladium routine and the station went on to its default setting.... The... Simp... sons.

Totally pissed off with the ever declining standards of modern television, Grandpa went into the kitchen and practised drawing a sharp carving knife across his throat. It wouldn’t be long now, he thought. “Good bye cruel world, and good riddance!”

And I can’t say I blame him really.

WEATHERWISE

   

1 Comment:

1. Unknown said...
   20 October 2011 at 10:45  
   hehe love the satire of tv and any mention of Simon Cowell in a story gets an A+ with me

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