The Cat's Climate Report

Here in the lovely Kingdom of Northumbria, this must surely have been one of the worst seasons since the previous one. For an interminable number of weeks, the animal and human populations of this glorious realm have been subjected to showers and deluges as the sky's countenance has rapidly changed, subsuming the light in a pall of dull greyness.

The sheer volume of the wet stuff has been a constant source of anxiety on the part of the humans, and soothsayers like Beeby See and her sociopathic bosom pal Guardy-Ann have been more than happy to fuel the general unease with copious stories of Great Disasters, doom, thrice woe and whatever. Such has been the ferocity and persistence of the downpours that on many occasions, people have returned to their hovels after a day's hard work in their fields and workshops to find their dwellings inundated in several feet of filthy and malodorous liquid, giving forth noxious vapours as the cesspits have been disrupted, spreading their happiness over a considerable area. There have been tears in abundance.

Furthermore, the temperature has been uncomfortably high - although it has to be said that there's been far more heat than light. The Great Holy Roman Empire (which is neither holy, Roman nor an empire) Games Torch Procession (all hail the sacred flame) has been an unmitigated disaster, as the prevailing wind and barrage of wet have - on many occasions - overcome the burning brand, causing it to fizzle and splutter to the point of extinction. It's so terribly sad. What's for lunch?

But that's enough about the foetid hot air and vacuous outpourings from the politicos, pundits and soothsayers. The weather here hasn't been too grand, either...