It happens every season

I'm sure I know the cause

Of the thing that drives kayakers

To go screaming up the walls

It's a thing called weather forecasts

And it's seldom ever true

That what the forecast tells you

Is what it's REALLY going to do

If they say "Its hot and sunny"

You can be reasonably sure

That the weathers soddin awful

And the view obscured by stour

If they say "Don't put to sea

The weather will be dire"

You couldn't really blame a chap

For thinking "hes a liar !"

For if you heed their warnings

Of gales! and rain! and surf!

And spend the day, just sitting...

On your local sward of turf

Or make a start on all those jobs

SHE says that must be done

Reflecting moodily the whiles

On paddles in the sun

Would you find the weather balmy

With not a trace of rain

And EVERYONE you knew of

Had been off to sea again

Or how about "It's nice and calm"

"Lazing paddles sort of day"

Would you find that white caps

Were snarling for their prey

So how are bold kayakers

About to put to sea

Expected to find out what like

The weathers going to be

Just find a piece of seaweed

And nail it on the wall

And place not YOUR reliance

On the satellites and all


Copyright Mike Thomson

sometime ago.