Green propaganda of weather forecasts goes against the grain in the real world
EARLIER this week, all of the nation’s stern-faced weather-men and weathermen ladies said that an apocalyptic storm would arrive in Britain on Tuesday night.
And that the torrential rain and gales would not die down for two weeks.
And so, on Tuesday morning, even though my crops were not really ready, and the moisture content was still too high, I fired up the combine and got to work.
Yes, I’d have to pay £10 a ton to dry the grain after it was harvested but better to take that hit than have the whole lot ruined by the storm.
We worked tirelessly until 11pm and when I finally crawled into bed, utterly exhausted, I noticed that all of my neighbouring farmers were still out here, doing the same thing.
I could see the lights of their combines and their tractors, as they raced to beat the weather.
The next morning, I opened the curtains expecting to see Armageddon. Bits of the Empire State Building in the shattered rose beds. An iceberg in the pond. The whole of global warming made real.
Instead, however, the skies were blue and the breeze was gentle. And it stayed like that until about five, when it became pleasantly warm as well.
And the next day, it was the same story.
So the farmers had brought in their harvest early and taken a massive financial hit that they can’t afford . . . for absolutely no reason.
Now look. We all know that climate change must be mentioned in every movie, TV show, news bulletin and social media post. You can do your stuff about diversity and sustainability and mental health. But only if there’s a global boiling message in there as well.
So I understand that the weather- persons feel duty bound to jump on the bandwagon as well.
They feel compelled, when it’s warm, to paint their maps dark red and talk about “extreme heat”.
And similarly, to keep Greta and the snowflake army happy, they need to say when it’s a bit chilly, that we will all soon be buried under a 20-foot snow drift.
They see their weather forecasts now as political weapons. Baseball bats which can be used to beat the oil companies into submission. And they’ll mangle statistics if that’s what’s necessary.
They’ll tell us that July broke the record for coldness and wetness. But forget to mention the record is only 14 years old.
And they’ll tell us that savage heat in the Mediterranean set fire to the Greek island of Rhodes, whereas in fact, it was a bunch of p***ed up arsonists.
And they think that the constant wrongness doesn’t matter, because a wonky weather forecast only affects people planning barbecues.
But to farmers, it bloody well does matter.
So how’s this for an idea. You carry on running your propaganda forecasts designed to make people turn the heating down and sell the car. Great.
But can there be a proper weather forecast made available for people who really do need to know the truth?
VOLVO has announced that it’s no longer going to make a traditional estate car.
So what’s next? McDonald’s announces it is giving up on the burger?
Many will wonder why Volvo has made such a bold move.
But it’s simple, really.
Back in the Seventies, their big estate was the natural home for all of the nation’s bad drivers. But these days, that market is gone, because they all drive Peugeots.
I’ve got a dam fine name for a baby beaver
SOME rodent enthusiasts from Somerset announced this week that a wild beaver on their patch has given birth to three babies.
And now they are inviting members of the public to think of some names.
Obviously “Beaver McBeaverface” is going to be a hot favourite.
But I’d like to suggest that one of the others should be called “Nice”.
I could defeat a ringer
YOU sort of knew, as the women lined up on the start line for the 100-metre sprint at the World University Games in China this week that something wasn’t quite right.
I don’t mean to be unkind, but the girl from Somalia didn’t appear to have a typical runner’s physique. She wouldn’t have looked out of place in the shot-putting event. But the 100 metres? No.
Plus, she could be seen looking at the other competitors as they placed their feet in the blocks so that she had an idea of what was expected of her.
Then the race began and it didn’t go well. In fact, she set the slowest time ever recorded in an event of this nature.
It took her more than 20 seconds to reach the finish line. And to put that in perspective, I can do it in 17 seconds.
And I’m as fat as a pig.
Whatever, the chairwoman of Somalia’s athletics federation has now been suspended. Because it emerged the “athlete” was her niece.
Gum again, doc?
FOR most of my adult life, stern-faced doctors warned me that if I didn’t give up smoking, I would suffer from an agonising and premature death.
So six years ago I bit the bullet and replaced my 40-a-day habit with sheet after sheet of full-strength nicotine gum.
And this week a doctor said it’s causing a worrying rise in my blood pressure and that if I don’t pack it in soon, I will suffer from an agonising and premature death.
Walks ruling is wild
THERE are nearly 170,000 miles of footpaths in the English and Welsh countryside.
And you’d think that would be enough.
But no. Cagoule enthusiasts keep on demanding that footpaths aren’t enough and that they should have a right to roam wherever they want.
And it’s not just the lefty property-is-theft brigade who are making these noises.
In a recent poll, more than 60 per cent of Tory voters said they wanted the right to stroll through my garden whenever the mood takes them.
And not just stroll. A court decided this week that people should be allowed to pitch their tent on private land in Dartmoor in Devon if they want to do wild camping. Which used to be called “camping”. In the same way that wild swimming used to be called “swimming”.
The only reason they added the word “wild” is because today, you emerge from the water covered in sewage.
Well I’m sorry, but the countryside is for the birds and the insects, and farmers who use it to make your food.
It’s not a playground for a bunch of hippies who walk around till their armpits smell, leap in a river to wash away the BO and then sit around all night, singing Kumbaya while eating cold baked beans from a tin because they forgot to bring any cutlery and no one knows how to light a fire.
By all means go for a nice walk on a footpath. That’s great and healthy and there’s much to look at. But afterwards, get in your car and go home.
Charge chumps
AS you know, the country is now plagued with a number of posh young people who want to ban oil.
They join a large group of older people who want to ban nuclear power and a gang of Nimbys who have already successfully brought about a ban on onshore wind farms.
Good luck, then, charging up your new Tesla.