Dennis the Menace

Despite the UK’s prevailing erratic meteorological conditions, spring is only around the corner, although I’m unsure which corner it’s hiding behind. Wherever the season resides, though, I’m hoping it’ll stop procrastinating and get it’s ass back to Blighty pronto.

Weekend weather forecast maps exhibiting low pressure isobars envelope our nation; these tightening to their narrowest sphere akin to Native American’s menacingly circumnavigating a waggon convoy 1950’s B-movie. The UK’s inclement weather resulting from this gripping low pressure.

Gaining liberty from these sources of chill, we need spring to appear hastily over the horizon like a latter-day US cavalry division. Although, in fairness to the season of perennial plant regeneration and kaleidoscopic bulb colour, I’m jumping the gun somewhat beckoning its immediate arrival. After all, it’s only 12th February, meaning our upcoming temperate period has a few weeks vacation left before a return flight to our sceptred isle in March.

I do realise, however, my wishes for the premature appearance of spring are futile. No matter how much you long for its arrival, our ensuing season not scheduled until next month. An occasion that will be marked by a ceremonious welcome, including a Salvation Army parade and a Jedward tribute act performance on London’s Mall.

Among the subsequent pomp and circumstance, TV presenters Richard & Judy will ritually sacrifice a goat as an offering to weather god Wincey Willis. After which the end of winter will be symbolically signified by setting fire to a copy of Heston Blumenthal’s book ‘Recipes For When You’re F***ing Freezing‘.

The ceremony is scheduled to conclude with Wincey’s provision of the predicted three month meteorological forecast during spring’s watch. If she get’s it wrong it’ll be Ms Willis sacrificed next year instead of the goat.

Luckily for the Gateshead born meteorologist, she never gets the weather forecast incorrect; a gift she puts down to being “I’m a bloody great guesser, pet!”

Like most of Blighty’s populace, I’m longing for spring to arrive. Along with eagerly awaiting the fledgling sprouting of bulbs and perennial flora and fauna, I’m fed up of being nithered (cold). The driving wind, precipitation, along with freezing conditions, introducing a sporadic existential hermitism; consequential from restricted movement outing wise.

Weather forecasters are suggesting that today and tomorrow, for the second weekend on the trot, the islands making up the United Kingdom will experience a battering from unforgiving wind and rainstorms. This gusty cousin of last week’s Storm Caira, the equally as brutal Storm Dennis.



Dennis the menace predicted to bequeath Blighty a months worth of rainfall within the next 24 hours. Subsequently, more flooding, disruption to utilities and transport network delays are forecast for long suffering Brits.

The consequential collateral damage bringing to mind this verse from Samuel Taylor Coleridge’s sonnet ‘The Rime of the Ancient Mariner’. There’ll be……

Water, water, every where,
And all the boards did shrink;
Water, water, every where,
Nor any drop to drink.
Come on spring, lad!…. Get your ass in gear so we can sacrifice that goat to Wincey Willis!

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