"After I heard that a number of our members were snowed in, I walked down to the Community Centre to check the conditions there and found the car park still deep in hard packed snow. That's when I decided to call off our session this week and a lucky thing too since it snowed a lot later that day. We're all missing the music and are trying to come to terms with the surfeit of weather news. Here's a comment on that."
Weather Girl on TV
A poem by Lorn Macintyre
She's dressed for summer, not the big freeze,
moving like an automaton, as if a key's
in her derrière as she wheels to the map.
Dire warnings sound like a thunder-clap,
hands spinning as she reels in a tornado
from north north east of the Faroes.
Is she going to kick off her Jimmy Choos,
swing on an isobar across to Toulouse?
She clicks the button in her hand
and bad weather masses over Shetland.
'Six inches of driven snow for Grampian.'
Not one of them has a complexion
wrinkled by sun. Who wants a plain Jane
when we're being warned of a hurricane?
But I'd prefer a toothless old crone
to come hobbling on a stick, moan
that her lumbago presages a cold spell.
Her hands claw, as if climbing to Mid Yell.
Should I put on my thermal vest
now more snow's massing in the west?
Tonight the temperature will plunge,
she warns us, with a final lunge,
head-first into the Irish Sea,
pulls herself up off Kirkcudbright.
My deep depression is clearing.
Her daft antics really are endearing.
Looking forward to our music next week followed by the Christmas lunch. Keep cosy, Moira.
