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Simon the wonder forecaster

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Farming is an occupation where financial viability is often determined by events beyond our control.

Children, an excellent traditional source of free labour, have the propensity to irresponsibly leave the family farm at around the age of 20 to look for a paying job, search for some nooky, or plug into Australia’s social welfare payroll from a more prestigious address such as Surfers Paradise.
Politicians mess with our livelihoods yet we are not permitted to shoot or castrate them as we would any other feral pest. Rural life is just one disappointment followed by another.
Weather is farming’s greatest uncertainty. In Australia we have one of the most technologically advanced organisations in the world charged with monitoring and predicting weather.
For the last 20 years at 6.35 every morning I have turned on ABC radio to hear various blokes (until recently they were all male) from the Bureau of Meteorology making weather predictions.

If I were a cynical man I might be tempted to tar all these forecasters with the same brush; i.e. they are overpaid useless bureaucratic wankers who lounge around with eyes glued to computer screens all day in comfortably airconditioned bunkers, and toilet-trained monkeys could make more accurate forecasts by simply sitting on the roof using instinct coupled with superior intellectual capacity.

The Bucket does NOT tolerate intolerance such as this.
Cynicism might be a useful nail with which to deflate the tyre of mindless certainty, but in this case it fails to take into account all the proficient weathermen….. like Simon.
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Simon, aka Sanjay, was welcomed into the portico of my local Weather Bureau in 2009 by a wizened hirsute sitarist and the Indian Consul General who delivered a rather lengthy speech about bilateral relationships before everyone tucked into a free breakfast of barbecued beef sausages with onion rings and tomato sauce on wholemeal buns.

Simon’s enviable reputation as Andhra Pradesh’s premier weather guru had preceded him, and it came to pass that indeed Simon had unique powers of meteorological prediction. “Yes it will be rainings on next Tuesday but only until one quarter past ten in the morning time with the numbers of millimetres being thirty five and goodness gracious me I am seeing the sun will be shining at two o’clock in the exact moment.”
And every time Simon predicted rainings in the exact amounts, and sunshinings in the precise moments, it happened.

For three years he never made a mistake and his reputation grew exponentially. Simon became a celebrity. Aussie forecasters were jealous. Women swooned and Simon received marriage proposals from besotted meteorology students and professional gold-diggers.

Felicity-Jane Hobgoblin, Miss Twin Peaks U.S.A., submitted an irresistible handwritten application tucked neatly into a subtly perfumed item of intimate apparel. Simon, despite being betrothed to a young lady in Mumbai who had been selected by his parents on the basis of bullion ownership and potential fecundity rather than physical beauty, could not resist calling Felicity-Jane.

He nervously dialed the fifteen digits until the phone was answered on the seventh ring and……………..
.

.

.

.

 

.

…..then I woke up.

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About GOF

"Life is like a sewer. What you get out of it, depends upon what you put into it." (Tom Lehrer)

14 responses »

  1. I am having de millimeters of rainingks, now. The sunshinings have given no indication of when they are returningks.

    Reply
    • I heard on the radio about the amazing Polish forecaster performing miracles in America. Your reputation precedes you Lauri. :-)

      Reply
  2. Maybe you could go back to sleep and see the ending, GOF? My life won’t be worth living until I hear the salacious details. I’m told there’s a certain mushroom grows in your area that is known to enhance exciting dreams. Maybe you could try that?

    Reply
    • I’ll need to see a certificate of heart health from your GP before I finish the story Snowy……I don’t want you coming down with palpitations and other irregularities. :-)

      It’s the bloody mushrooms that are responsible in the first place for all these demented works of fiction.

      Reply
  3. Well, that’s far more exciting than my recent weather-related dream. It was a hot sunny day and a friend and I headed to an outdoor swimming pool. Before we got to enjoy the pool it began raining heavily and then I got bit by a dog. My imagination is rubbish. Where are all the flying dreams??

    Reply
    • “My imagination is rubbish. Where are all the flying dreams??”

      You need to work on this Lance……at a very minimum your outdoor pool should be equipped with mermaids. :-)

      Reply
  4. My mate Cherie is who we consult. She is more accurate than the news people by about 50%. She’s also a pretty little blonde. You’d like her!

    Reply
  5. Hehehe. You really tickled my funny bone with this one, GOF. :)

    Reply
  6. Thank you. Sometimes I wonder why I waste my time writing this sort of stuff.

    Reply

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