Hopefully the dreadful windy weather is behind us. Pleasingly, lots of people I didn't like had their fences blown down. This remains a source of rich pleasure to me. I think it's God's way of telling me I'm The Chosen One. I hope that doesn't sound too arrogant. My fences are firm and constantly erect. Didn't move an inch. Unyielding. Catholic fences, if you will. All around me, those who have incurred my displeasure, are smashed and crushed (like the Protestant faith). If you want proof, my brother-in-law is now the proud owner of a horizontal, 312 piece fence. He is a policeman you'll recall, and commandeers my remote when he comes to stay. Being a policeman means you're never off duty, it would seem. Last week he cautioned me for speeding. Apparently I left the kitchen "at a reckless speed," and if there had been anyone coming up the hall a "terrible accident would have been unavoidable." He took my details, and told me "I was now on a register." I offered him money - as you do - but this only made it worse. He just can't relax. Always on the alert. He walks with his hands clasped behind his back, nodding at you as he patrols the house. Once he tried to ride a horse up the hallway. He's installed speed cameras in the hall now - I'm not sure whether he's just videoing us. He's checked the receipts on all the presents, and is threatening a drugs bust "as soon as the gloves and lubricant arrive". One of the worst features of bad weather is the increased exposure that the weathermen and women get on the news programmes. They become the main feature. Top of the news headlines. Updates through the programme. Final summary at the end of the programme. They're never off the screen. These are desperately dull characters, that's why they chose weather as their career. Imagine how disappointed their parents must have been at their career choice. Weather Folk are like moving corpses, utterly devoid of personality. Even librarians are ashamed of weather forecasters. I wonder if librarians have an annual conference? And if they do, are there any speakers? Or do they just pass notes around, in complete and utter silence? They reckon that librarians have the most advanced hearing in the mammal world. Their world of silence means that they can hear - quite literally - a pin drop. To test this theory I'm advocating putting librarians and weather forecasters in the jungle, to see who lasts longest. The librarians should win, as they would be able to hear the tiger approaching. Either way, I'm not bothered, but it would make great television. Because of their repeat appearances The Talking Corpses tried to build their television parts. To show us they're not the failures we know them to be. And the presenters encouraged it. One attempt at a Pete and Dud classic was: "And now the weather - I don't think there's much to report, is there Cardboard Man?" They both chuckled at this rib tickling Oscar Wilde nuance. "No Pretty But Unthreatening Girl Next Door, there's nothing to say." They both laughed. "No, seriously though (the cue here for us to stem the tears of laughter), we do still have concerns looking ahead." I did want to listen to what they had to say. The trouble was I just couldn't do it. As normal, I just saw their lips move, like watching a silent movie, but in dull colour. The World Of Grey. The producers did at least try and amuse us. Occasionally The Cardboard was asked to stand outside as they were giving their reports. A beauty to behold. Gusts, gales, biting rain - and Cardboard Man swaying in the midst of it all. And this is where we get to know the real person a little more. We see the coat, suitably unfashionable. On a good day we see a hat arrangement. A flat cap if you're lucky. A big woolly hat if you're blessed. Enormous gloves. All surrounding a tiny person. Weather Folk are all utterly nondescript. Which is why I think they're all Government spies. Think about it. I'm onto something am I not? *********** Oh no they won't Whilst we're being unpleasant about folk, I'd like us to give a thought to others much less fortunate than ourselves. Those who will now be unemployed for 10 months, and quite rightly so. The panto stars. The posters, and advertisements have appeared for months. You know some of the cast - that's why you're going. If you don't watch reality television, then you're struggling. I'm particularly interested in the smaller images on the posters. How can I put it delicately? The nonentities, that's it. They're the ones I'm talking about, sneering at, if you will. They're generally under a cleavage. The pretty girl who used to be in a soap. And has been in nothing since. But still has a nice cleavage, looking at the posters. The posters tell a fabulous rich story. Clearly one without a happy ending. A middle aged bloke is in a ridiculous comic pose, apparently trying to grab the cleavage. An image to make those who know him in real life, sob. The headlines scream at us. "As seen on TV." "Television's funniest comedienne." "As seen in On The Buses - Hi De Hi." And - worst of all - catchphrases to help you remember them when their career was on the up. "Chase me
I'm free
He's not saying his mother-in-law's fat
" And, tragically, ironically, and hilariously, the grinning faces of the ageing has-beens, and never will be's, gleefully smiling at you. Terrible monkey smiles. Looking as though they couldn't be happier. Hiding the bitter tears of their terrible plight. I'll tell you, thinking about it really cheers me up. | 
