The Weather is Upon Us
WEATHER. It’s happening. Now!
The Sun looks on as a wave crashes close to a woman, a man and a pram. “BUGGY IDIOT,” says the front-page headline. “Dad risks baby’s life as wave hits.”
Worse: “The idiot had just one hand on the buggy, with a cigarette in the other, as breakers crashed over Brighton’s sea wall.”
Shock: “Andrew Hasson, who saw the dad and a pal, said: “They were stupid and lucky not to be swept away.”
He offers no comment on the cigarette. But a nation is sickened.
More beach shots as on the Times. A man is airborne. In his hand the remnants of an umbrella. The sea to his right. The soft wet sand beneath. No cigarette. He might make it yet.
This is “HURRICANE BRITAIN” says the Express on its cover. Had only BBC weatherman Michael Fish been an Express reporter in 1987, he’d not have poo-pooed warnings of a hurricane. He’d have screamed it. And he’d have continued screaming it every day, just in case he was right.
The paper shows its readers a satellite image of white and black dots and dashes and swirls. Over this is transposed an outline of the UK, in orange.
“Brace yourself,” says the Telegraph on its front page. “The worst is yet to come.” No chances taken.
No More Michael Fish.
Posted: 11th, March 2008 | In: Broadsheets, Tabloids Comments (10) | TrackBack | Permalink
