September 7th, 2020Kyle’s Rant

Anyway, when the weather came on, Dad would bellow for us kids to shut up and then quickly direct one of us to adjust the aerial on top of the TV to minimise the rolling of the screen and adjust the fuzziness.
After all, Dad was a fisherman and you lived and died by the weather. He would mumble as the isobars and forecasts were reported and always talk about his deliberations after the weather was over, and how he knew that the strong northerly would create sloppy seas and bring the snapper closer to shore.
Fast forward 40-odd years where the channel choices are endless and the high definition blasts through the dimly-lit living room, and I get my fix of the weather nightly at 6.55pm. These days I can ask Siri what the weather is going to do for the next 10 days with relative accuracy, but no, I still have to see it for myself on Channel Seven.
The “weather” comes in the form of Jane Bunn and I feel like a dirty old man, like Arkwright out of the English series Open All Hours as he lusts over Nurse Gladys Emmanuel’s meringues. (Binge watch it, you will love it).
But back to Jane. I drift off in a trance as she talks about the weather – and the terminology takes on a whole new meaning. And she is actually a meteorologist. How good is that. The whole package.
The other day, I was talking with wifey about my 6.55pm habit and she mentions that she doesn’t mind the health officer as a bit of eye candy. Now, I am not talking about the ruggedly handsome Brett Sutton, I am talking about the guy from Canberra, the square-jawed Nick Coatsworth.
I mean, what does she want with all that tinsel out there when she has me, albeit a little iso-rough looking, with hair I nearly trip over, the five o’clock shadow from months ago and now just rotating the old trackie dacks week in, week out.
But surely her choices of fanciful encounters could be a bit dreamier and maybe, just quietly, a decade or so older? Anyway, I have to be quiet now as the weather is about to begin.
Shhh, weather rant over.

(Ed’s note. The whole point of eye candy is to go a decade younger. Nick is 42. Jane is 41. What’s good for the goose…)