Go on, get your clothes off
Hello there. This is an official announcement from your favourite weatherman, Jim Wetherman. I hereby declare that we have entered the vernal point of the Earth’s axial tilt, when the plane of our planet’s equator passes the centre of the Sun, and is thereby neither inclined away from nor towards the Sun.
Ladies and gentlemen, but especially ladies, I just wanted you to know that the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland is about to enter that time of year I like to call “springtime”.
Ooooooh yeah baby.
Now, listen up. We’ve all just lived through the wettest winter on record, and I, for one, am lucky to be alive. I tell you, there was one dark day in February when the puddles on Kensington High Street were so big I thought my apartment was going to be completely cut off from Harrods. Never have I ever had so many suicidal thoughts.
But however bad things got, and however wet our ankles may have become, we survived. Britain, we made it. We’ve now gone two weeks without any rain and I feel alive again. Everything is bright and sunny and glorious and beautiful and I can’t wait to make up for the time I lost putting on excessive layers of waterproof clothing just to reach my chauffeured limousine without splashing muddy water on my dinner suit.
So now that the puddles have receded and everyone is able to get back to their normal lives without any problems left to resolve or anything, I want to suggest that everyone strip naked. Yes, you heard me. Naked, all of you. And why not? It’s sunny, damn it. Don’t you want to enjoy the sun? Why are you denying your body Vitamin D? Go on, get your clothes off.
While you’re at it, I need you to find a missing plane, negotiate a settlement with Crimea, make HS2 cheaper and find someone ‘acceptable’ to replace Bob Crow.
But regardless of whether these problems get solved, or whether or not I have persuaded you to strip off and join me in my rooftop hot tub overlooking the Daily Mail offices, I just know that we’re all going to have an absolutely fabulous spring. Our homes are all still intact, there’s no foul smells emanating from our carpets and all of our public infrastructure is functioning at full capacity.
Let the good times roll, baby. That’s what I keep telling my new hot neighbour. I haven’t seen her for a few days, but she’s definitely up for it. They all are at this time of year. Just ask my mate Max Clifford.