Moaning about "the weather"

I harbour an entirely irrational hatred of "the weather". By "the weather" I don’t mean the changing climatic conditions or the segue from one season to the next (I understand that it needs to be both rainy and sunny, and it's foolish to argue either way), but rather the five minute snippet tagged onto the end of news programmes in which some nondescript individual in an invariably poorly-fitting suit drones lifelessly on about "high pressure fronts drifting in from the mid Atlantic etc."

I'm not being irrational. If I tally up the amount of time I've spent sitting in front of a televised map of the British Isles while a gawky nobody waves his arms about like a tired semaphore operator, I'm shocked.

Time on earth is short - ninety years if you're lucky - and "the weather" is collectively responsible for wasting days of my life in which I've learned precisely nothing. That's why I've decided not to watch it anymore. And if, horror of horrors, I occasionally get caught outdoors without an umbrella or end up wearing one layer of clothing too much, then so be it. It's time to throw caution to the wind (drifting in from the mid-Atlantic… etc.)