What
would we do without the weather? When unsure what to speak about
or write about, for that matter, theres always the weather.
When conversation dries up, you can seek safety in a discussion
about a climatic disaster. As singer Tom Waits says, strangers
talk about the weather.
Before
I moved to the northern hemisphere, I never knew the significance
of the weather or that it could be such a large part of daily discussion.
People talk about it all the time. But it is not only strangers
who use it to break the ice. Everyone spends time analysing the
weather and, after enduring a few winters here, I know why. The
weather is so foul you are forced to consider its impact. Of course,
it is not all dreadful. On the odd day in July, the sun can shine
and temperatures can occasionally sneak up to 25 ?C. These days
are generally marked by two occurrences. Firstly, the streets are
transformed into a riot of colour that ranges from transparent white
flesh through to sunburned lobster-red flesh. Secondly, good weather
is greeted with a flurry of capitalist zeal. People rush out to
buy new braais or barbecues, along with matching garden furniture
and other garden knickknacks from gnomes to cheap Japanese water
features. These two phenomena can easily be explained. The former
is about relative deprivation. The latter is the product of what
psychologists call interval reinforcement. Behavioural psychologists
can get a pigeon to peck a disc when rewarded with food. Interestingly,
you can get a pigeon to peck consistently either by rewarding and
reinforcing its behaviour after a standard number of pecks, or by
only occasionally rewarding it at average variable intervals. The
potential reward is enough to get the creature to peck unrewarded,
no matter how irregular or limited the reward is. This is why gamblers
gamble, and why having the odd warm day can get people to buy a
ton of outdoor equipment that will invariably rust in the rain for
the rest of the year.
In
fact, the more you think about it, the world works like this all
the time. We vote for politicians who only occasionally carry through
their promises. We buy lottery tickets because someone wins every
now and then. Despite such rewards being largely erratic, we con
ourselves into believing that they are predictable. We even invent
things to make us feel the world is explainable. When it comes to
weather, it is the TV forecast that is the technology that leads
us down this path of compulsive behaviour. There are two types of
people in the world those that watch the forecast and those
that do not. Watching the weather forecast in the northern hemisphere
is as pointless as taking water skis with you on a camel safari
in the Sahara. The forecast varies largely between dull, rainy and
grey, and rainy, grey and dull. Forecasting warm days is equally
as pointless, as it only leads to irrational social behaviour, as
I explained. Of course, the forecast can be helpful in predicting
major disasters but, on a day-to-day basis, it is reality TV for
the clinically inane and groundlessly optimistic. I think we should
return to the good old days when weather watching actually involved
nature and an interaction with the world beyond plastic graphically-represented
clouds.
So
this is what I have learnt in these northern climes: if cows are
lying down in a field, it is going to rain; if swallows are flying
backwards, there is a fierce wind, and if your cat bolts across
your garden seemingly being pelted with golf balls, it is probably
hailing. More importantly, you just have to take the weather as
it comes while paying heed to the wise words of Billy Connolly:
there is no such thing as bad weather, only the wrong clothes.
Brandon
Hamber writes the column "Look South": an analysis
of trends in global political, social and cultural life and its
relevance to South Africa on Polity, see http://www.polity.co.za/pol/opinion/brandon/.
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