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.