My old dad, while a very experienced sailboat racer, was never entirely comfortable on his many cruising boats - thirteen at last count. Out cruising, every morning he’d be up at the crack of dawn twiddling the knobs on the VHF.

When making enquiries from the warmth of her bunk as to what the problem was now, my poor mother would be sternly told to “shush” as the Shipping Forecast was broadcast over the crackly radio. “Malin, Hebrides - northerly force four, backing northwest six later”.

“Right, that’s it” he’d cry, “Time to head back”, hauling my poor mother out her bunk and the anchor from the kelp, where it had lain undisturbed for a day or two as gentle summer breezes wafted through the anchorage.

“But Fred”, mum would protest. “It’s very settled”.

“Four rising to six. DIDN’T YOU HEAR WOMAN?” and off they’d head at dawn in a dash for the sanctuary of the marina…… where of course, mum would catch up on her lost sleep as the gentle summer breezes wafted through.

So, how come, years later, in these days of high tech, satellites and with decades of experience can the forecasts be so wrong?

Fourteen knots on the GRIB. Forty two outside.

Having just listened to the latest forecast, I’ll tell you why. All the resources at the Met offices have been put into marketing instead of forecasting.

Nowadays, instead of a bit of bad weather coming your way, we get “yoof speak”. “Pulses” of rain”. “Weather bombs” “Amber warnings” and the like.

Give us a break.