Mr B and I enjoy a close, if (to be fair) one-sided, relationship with the BBC weather Guys and Gals.
We welcome them into
our home every morning like old friends. We listen to everything they have to tell us and file it away for future reference. We choose which coat to wear, whether to search out an umbrella, what time to go shopping based on the information they have to impart.
We comment on the photographs they display from their army of “weather watchers” and wonder whether we should join this merry band of photographers and what name we would choose to be known by.
We also (but please don’t tell anyone) like to pass judgement on what they are wearing - whether a particular dress is becoming or not, whether a tie is too loud or too boring. We are never unkind, you understand, just
occasionally regretful that one of our favourites has chosen an outfit which (in our not particularly reliable opinion) does not do them justice.
heard that Carole Kirkwood (one of our personal favourites) had been at Buckingham Palace to present two of our granddaughters with their Gold Duke of Edinburgh awards a couple of years back - well, it was like it was Meant To Be.
In the middle of the night, or in the early hours of the morning, when I can’t get back to sleep after a foray downstairs to settle Mr B back into slumber, it’s so very
comforting to hear a familiar voice reciting the Shipping Forecast. You can tell, can’t you, that our one-sided relationship has much to recommend it.
of course, we were all agog on account of our friends’ advice on Storm Eunice. I don’t know whose idea it was to give names to storms but I’m not sure it’s such a good idea. If, for example, you happened to have a much-loved Auntie
Eunice (fortunately I don’t, as far as I know) then it would be almost impossible to picture her as a Bringer of Destruction. Not Auntie Eunice, we would be telling each other over our breakfast.
According to our Fair or Foul Weather Friends we needed to watch out today. Things were going to get very much worse before they (hopefully) improved. We didn’t need too much persuading to decide that it would be a Drawbridge
I was supposed to be spending a happy and tuneful morning at Singing for Pleasure. Should we decide to cancel, then I would need to spend a goodly amount
of time trying to contact all our group members heading them off at the pass before 10 o’clock. At 7.30 a.m. the weather looked quite settled. No wind, no rain, no sign of Trouble Ahead. But - and it was a Very Big But, what are friends for if not to
warn you of the unforeseen? And didn’t we have the very best of friends in these circumstances, all of them saying exactly the same thing?
not to be lulled into a false sense of security, they variously informed us. Come 10 a.m. we might be in Serious Danger if we ventured outside. It’s good to have friends looking out for you, don’t you reckon? By 9 a.m. my fellow singing leader
and I had called off our morning singing by phone and by email. I couldn’t help suggesting in my email that we should all cheer ourselves up by singing at home, reminding everyone that among our extensive repertoire was a song called “Stormy Weather”…
We have been very fortunate. Apart from a few empty flower pots dancing about the back garden in the wind, we have emerged unscathed from the Worst of Eunice. Others, we
know, have not been so lucky. There is, however, a tree down across the pavement along which I walk to the shops every day - what a good thing our TV friends told us to stay indoors.
That’s what friends are for…