Do not ever, ever, ever
ask an Englishman about the weather.
Believe you me, it’s a big mistake
that you should never ever make.
For he’ll go on and on forever
until you think that you will never
get away from his mad tirade
about Fahrenheit and Centigrade.
They learn it at their mothers’ knees:
it is the national disease
where they all seem quite possessed
by this strange climatic zest.
They’ll talk and talk for simply hours
on the possibilities of showers
or the outside chance of freezing fog
should you want to walk the dog.
Thunderstorms will get them going
and they really love it when it’s snowing.
Especially they find it pleasing
to prophesy a spell of freezing.
They like their weather pretty dire
in places such as Staffordshire
and when it comes to wind and gale,
they play fine tunes on the Beaufort Scale.
Most of all, they really get boring
explaining why it’ll soon be pouring,
and you’ll learn more than you want to know
of drizzle, rain and sleet and snow.
So I will give you this advice:
“An Englishman can be very nice
but keep him off all talk of weather
or you’ll be stuck with him for ever.”