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Fuck the government, fuck you all

I need to be honest. I have no clue what the weather’s going to be like this week.

It will probably rain, it could equally be dry, maybe a bit of both, a little snow, some hail, a few cats, the odd dog and my uncle Sam. One thing I do know is, there’s a big black cloud hanging over my life.


I’ve submitted an application form to Dragon’s Den

Spring has arrived at last. But even better than that, the patent has come through on my idea that will save the world. Yes, that’s right. I, Jim Wetherman, am ready to launch the Big World Saving Plan.


Holy shit, it’s snowing! In winter!

Brrrrrrrrrrrrr. I’m cold, very cold. And not just because I’ve gone six days without any action.

Britain has frozen solid and is now basically just a big iceberg off the coast of France. Does this mean I can skive off work? No, you lazy retards, I’m going to give you your seven-day weather forecast, whether or not I have to get out my shovel.


I’m quietly formulating a plan to save the world

I’ve been thinking a lot over the summer about how humans are influencing our climate; what with all the floods, heatwaves and volcanic eruptions we’ve had. I’m even formulating a plan to save the world. But more on that later.

In the meantime, I need to concentrate on forecasting this week’s weather. All of those juicy, ripe blackberries. All of those golden, autumn leaves, falling, spiralling down to the crisp, frost-biten floor. And a fresh, cool wind blows. Yes, I definitely fucking hate this time of year.


I don’t need to know the offside rule to know that this World Cup has been fucking hijacked

Welcome to South Africa. Once again, The Taxman have sent me packing on a trip to some random country in the middle of some random continent because, apparently, there is something important happening out here.

But what would I know about any sodding football tournament when I’m holed up here in my hotel room vomiting like a 19-year-old in a cider house on his birthday? How did they think a chronic asthmatic would feel 1,200 metres above sea level?


The end of the world starts here

I can’t believe what’s happening to me. Gone are the fast women, the fast cars and the fast food. I’ve started recycling, gardening and celibacy. Okay, well, I only started the latter this morning after a nasty experience with a Russian hooker, but you catch my drift. I’ve changed.

Whatever you say about Copenhagen, it was an historic moment. One I’ll remember forever. And now that I’ve seen the error of my gluttonous ways, I’m not going to let an email scandal and a few dodgy scientists get me down. The end of the world starts here.


I have seen the future

For two weeks in Copenhagen, I have been listening to world leaders and environment ministers on how they intend to tackle climate change. I have also heard from leading climate scientists and environmental thinkers, for the first time in my life, on the actual extent of the threat we face.

Thankfully, this did not deny me the time to scout for Danish talent. Because the science, surprisingly, is eminently simple, and the governments of the world are astonishingly short on solutions. So taking all of this into account, I now present my first seven-decade forecast. I have seen the future.

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