By way of an intermission in my current Musical A-Z, I had cause to once again consider the information provided by ‘experts’ today.
I caught the news at 12:30. Just after, the weatherman appeared. Mature, benign, and smilingly confident. He waved his hand around a back-projected map of Britain for a while, before making this definite statement. ” Once the cloud clears from the east, counties like Norfolk* can expect a sunny afternoon, with temperatures close to the seasonal norm, around 21 degrees.” That was music to my ears.
(* Where I live)
I informed Ollie that we would be going out early for our walk, to enjoy that seasonal warmth of around 70 F, and the sun that would accompany it. No need to lug an umbrella around, or to wear uncomfortable waterproofs. We set off at 12:45, ignoring the grey skies that I had been reliably informed would soon be a thing of the past. Ten minutes later, and I felt a heavy raindrop hit the back of my hand.
What followed was no light summer shower. This was heavy rain, serious in its intent to soak us. I was soon wet through, and not long after that, sodden. I could only stand it for 70 minutes, driven on by the need to get exercise for Ollie, but uncomfortable in wet clothes, and unable to see through the water running down my face. I got home, and discarded all the wet gear. Even the boxer shorts had to come off.
I then had time to ponder on the nonsense that is weather forecasting. So, BBC, how can you get it so wrong, so often? How useless does a weather forecaster have to be, before he or she is just told to leave? Can you imagine a restaurant that served the wrong food five times out of six? Or a car mechanic who repaired the wrong part every time? Or perhaps a doctor who operated on the wrong person, at least four times a week? How long would they all last? Not long, we know the answer to that.
But inaccurate guesswork, posing as so-called weather-forecasting has been tolerated for my lifetime. These people, who cannot patently tell their own arses from their elbows, parade on to our screens every day, and tell us what is going to be happening. They use scientific charts, serious-looking maps, and lots of technical terms. They even call themselves meteorologists. Experts, undoubtedly. Buffoons, undeniably. When they go back to their colleagues in the office, or staff room, they must really piss themselves laughing at how seriously we take their expert predictions. Waving their hands in front of a map, and saying the first thing that comes into their heads.
I would like to get them all, and tie them to a post in the middle of Hoe Rough. Let them experience the reality of their expert predictions for once.
And I have a suggestion for the BBC. Instead of these expensive ‘experts’, just put a card up on the screen, with two words on it. NO IDEA.