Six minutes to six. I'm ready for tea,
The forecast for shipping - what is in store?
My chair is a vessel far out on the sea,
Rain, moderate or good, occasion'ly poor.
There's warning of gales in areas all,
The Low in the Faeroes promises more,
South-easterly, storm force, tending to squall,
Rain, moderate or good, occasion'ly poor.
Home by the fireside no sailor am I,
But share in the ritual, listen in awe,
Watch the storm brewing and see the clouds fly,
Rain, moderate or good, occasion'ly poor.
Fisher, Tyne, Dogger and Forth, German Bight,
Deepening depression and gales by the score
In Plymouth and Portland, Dover and Wight,
Rain, moderate or good, occasion'ly poor.
Not easy to concentrate, riding the swell -
Turn up the volume against the wind's roar,
The man from the ‘Beeb' has conjured up hell!
Rain, moderate or good, occasion'ly poor.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
That wonderful pastime that is tuning in to the shipping forecast. It's fun to have a bath while listening to it and feeling smug about being in an untempestuous and feverishly hot tub of water whilst hearing about the North Sea...