My parent’s generation used to talk about this character – invariably male – who was apparently in charge of the world’s meteorology. We’ve had a long, hot spell recently – I wondered what he was up to. (The picture shows UK forecaster, Michael Fish, MBE; I do hope he hasn’t secretly taken over the job . . .)
The Clerk of the Weather is sleeping.
He must be – we haven’t had rain
For week after week here in Sussex.
No wonder we gardeners complain.
I reckon this Clerk is a new boy,
Whose training has barely begun.
He’s nodded off reading the Manual,
And the great Weather Dial’s stuck on ‘Sun’.
We need a new Clerk of the Weather,
One who can balance things better,
Who can sense when we’ve had enough sunshine
And throw in some days a bit wetter.
That’s what he did in the Old Days:
The Clerk used to crank up the heat,
Then drop in a really good thunderstorm
To cool us all down as a treat.
You’d think, with the latest technology,
He’d be a bit more on the ball.
The weather’s a mess: folk are thinking
It might not need clerking at all . . .
“The What of the Weather?” say young folk.
“A ‘clerk’? What’s a ‘clerk’?” they exclaim,
For clerks and their quill pens are history –
Now ‘apps’ is the name of the game.
Perhaps that’s the problem. He’s got one,
This Clerk of the Weather – an app!
I hope he soon learns how to use it,
For his efforts so far have been not at all what we would have liked.
(See also Weather or not)