I watch the weather forecast, which follows the BBC News at Ten almost every evening, and yet I never know what the weather is going to be the next day.

The problem is not that the forecast is inaccurate, so much as I find myself unable to concentrate on its content.  Instead, I watch enthral to the habits, clothes and characteristics of the person presenting the weather, to the exclusion of their actual words.

I invent tales about their lives; speculate about their domestic arrangements; find myself critically pondering their physical and sartorial attributes.  During the brief 90 seconds of their screen-time, I will create an entire back story of their history; imagine a totally fictional account of their future.  And, while I am doing this, I take in not one jot of information about whether it is likely to rain tomorrow.

I wonder if Chris Fawkes can really be as tall as he looks on screen; and Matt Taylor so small?  I wonder if Elizabeth Rizzini shops at Sainsbury’s; and whether I could beat Louise Lear over the 110m hurdles?  I wonder if Stav Danaos drives a Mazda CX-3; and if Philip Avery prefers Jammie Dodgers to Custard Creams?  I wonder if Helen Willetts has an Aga in her kitchen; and if Georgina Burnett has ever seen a sunset on Bali?  I wonder what Ben Rich would look like without a beard; and what Sarah Keith-Lucas would look like with one?  And as for Tomasz.  My imagination knows no bounds.

What is it about weather presenters that provokes this strange excursion into flights of fantasy?  I don’t have the same reaction to newsreaders.  Huw Edwards; Fiona Bruce; Sophie Raworth.

No, come to think about it, I speculate in the same way about them, too.

© Stephanie Snifter

Steph Snifter keeps her stalking purely in the realms of the imagination.