Do not ever, ever, ever <br />ask an Englishman about the weather. <br />Believe you me, it’s a big mistake <br />that you should never ever make. <br /> <br />For he’ll go on and on forever <br />until you think that you will never <br />get away from his mad tirade <br />about Fahrenheit and Centigrade. <br /> <br />They learn it at their mothers’ knees: <br />it is the national disease <br />where they all seem quite possessed <br />by this strange climatic zest. <br /> <br />They’ll talk and talk for simply hours <br />on the possibilities of showers <br />or the outside chance of freezing fog <br />should you want to walk the dog. <br /> <br />Thunderstorms will get them going <br />and they really love it when it’s snowing. <br />Especially they find it pleasing <br />to prophesy a spell of freezing. <br /> <br />They like their weather pretty dire <br />in places such as Staffordshire <br />and when it comes to wind and gale, <br />they play fine tunes on the Beaufort Scale. <br /> <br />Most of all, they really get boring <br />explaining why it’ll soon be pouring, <br />and you’ll learn more than you want to know <br />of drizzle, rain and sleet and snow. <br /> <br />So I will give you this advice: <br />“An Englishman can be very nice <br />but keep him off all talk of weather <br />or you’ll be stuck with him for ever.” <br /> <br /><br />Pete Crowther<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/don-t-mention-the-weather/
