Problems in your life? Ask a weatherperson…
Who would you go to for advice if you had some deeply personal problem? I believe many of us would choose Tomasz Schafernaker or Sarah Keith-Lucas or Philip Avery. BBC weatherpersons have the perfect chart-side manner. They can be so soothing when they break bad news of long periods of rain, heavy at times.
Bill Giles, now retired, complains that today’s forecasters give us too much nannying advice, telling us, in a cold snap, to wrap up warm and avoid slipping on the ice, warning us to take our brollies and not to step in puddles, reminding us of the perils of too much sun. They should stick to the weather, he insists. I disagree; they should become agony aunts and uncles, advising us on our problems, and maybe throwing in a bit of information about the weather as a bonus. The new bulletin would go something like this:
“If we draw a line between the Bristol Channel and the Wash, those living north of that line will be going through a blustery period in their marriage right now. Keep calm and it will gradually improve over the next 48 hours. Why not sit down and talk things over? You can’t leave now; there are hailstones outside the size of squash balls.
“Susan, a shy teenager in the far South-East, says all her friends have boyfriends, but she never meets the right person. There’s no point in moping about and obsessing about it, Susan. Join a group, pursue an outdoor hobby. Love will suddenly bowl you over and you will be thrown together with some nice chap, probably this afternoon when Hurricane Cedric hits your area. Chatting about flying debris is a good way to break the ice.
“Hello, Naomi in Tewkesbury. You really ought to confide in your parents. Tell them about your worries and I’m sure they will understand. Choose a moment round about 11 o’clock tonight, when you are all sitting on the roof because of the flooding.
“Finally, thanks to all of you who sent in photos of tearful scenes in west Wales at sunset yesterday.” Something must be done about the rising tide of anchophobia, which has reached unacceptable levels in this country. For a start, the police should treat it as a hate-crime. As an ancho myself, I have become used to being part of a persecuted minority, mocked and misunderstood almost on a daily basis. Why should we, who just happen to enjoy a few anchovies on our pizza, have to endure this humiliation? We didn’t choose to be like this; we just realised over time that we were comfortable with anchovies. We don’t do any harm, even if we enjoy an occasional caper.
Last week, a YouGov survey on topping preferences revealed that 53 per cent of those interviewed like to have pineapple on their pizza. Anchovies, it turned out, were hugely unpopular, with many people actually wanting them to be banned.
Now, I suppose, we can expect a new outbreak of topping wars. Last Thursday night I noticed that the pizza delivery man rang my doorbell in a disrespectful manner, and looking into his eyes, through his motorcycle helmet visor, I could tell he was judging me. You would expect a more tolerant attitude from a person delivering pizzas that are wood-fired.
The good news is that some university student unions are now calling for well-known advocates of pineapple toppings to be no-crusted in pizza outlets. These people are, in any case, guilty of appropriating the culture of the proud Hawaiian people. It was reported last week that a pilot scheme has been launched in some London boroughs to use robots to assess patients who contact the 111 non-emergency phone line. They will be able to hold a “conversation” with patients to decide if they need to go to A&E, see a doctor or take a paracetamol and go to bed.
By a strange coincidence, I have just created a robot that will go to the GPs’ surgery on my behalf and explain my symptoms to the doctor. The great advantage of this is that the robot is not bothered about hanging about in the waiting room for long periods.
Unfortunately, through some fault in programming, my robot has gone rogue and visits the doctor on its own behalf. Even worse, it turns out to be a terrible hypochondriac. It is using its artificial intelligence to create artificial ailments. It complains of squeaky joints, a constant buzzing in the head and a worrying tinny echo in its voice.
The doctor says what he invariably says to his patients – “It’s probably some kind of virus.”