Now I’m in my 30s, I like to think I’ve left the stuff of make-believe behind. Tooth fairy? Pfft, I saw through her by seven. Fad weight-loss drink that tastes like suffering? Couldn’t fool me past 25. Yet when it comes to the little icon of the sun behind the cloud – that is, my phone’s weather app – I continue to suspend my critical faculties, choosing to believe in its ability to do what we know to be impossible: predict British weather.
As it turns out, I’m not alone. This week it was revealed by the children’s writer Francesca Simon, of the Horrid Henry series, that Queen Camilla is teased over her obsession with weather apps. Simon had met Camilla at a literacy charity event that was due to take place in the gardens at Clarence House, and the two had a good laugh about watching weather in various places where they weren’t. “She mentioned it was raining in France, where I’m meant to be today, and I said, ‘Yeah, I know,’” said Simon.
Now, readers, you may be thinking that this interaction is hardly newsworthy. “Extra, extra! British strangers chat about weather!” would be the call of the newsboy making zero sales. But I can’t stop thinking about it: what is it about weather apps that has us so gripped? There’s certainly a magic to them, as they look deep into the future (two whole weeks in some cases!), dazzling us with moving heat maps and graphs that we can’t fully read, instilling us with the power to become wizards. Some people’s party trick is to open bottles without an opener. Mine? Saying how many minutes it will be until a current rain shower passes. And who can deny the pleasure of checking in on a location where you are heading, only to see the row of sunshine icons? Or when the home town of an ex-friend or partner – still listed in your “favourite locations” – appears to be experiencing thunder and hail, in a pleasing moment of karmic retribution.
Yet we all know deep down that the apps are just guesswork. Informed guesswork, sure, but guesswork nonetheless. Weather data collection is the best it’s ever been but apps use their own algorithms to process it, often resulting in wildly different predictions. It’s why I have four, consulting them daily like a council of elders, giving them the power over how I spend my next hour, day or week. They are often all wrong. Yet I continue to put stock in them, cancelling barbecues at any chance of rain above 30% (surely 30% chance of rain is just any day in Britain?).
I wonder if we do ourselves a disservice like this; if we limit life by avoiding these inclement experiences, wasting days waiting for the sunshine to arrive. “There’s no such thing as bad weather, only bad clothing,” someone said to me on my very first trip to the countryside nearly 20 years ago. I was covered in mud and shivering after learning the hard way that “indie sleaze” is not an all-terrain look. It was great advice, though I might have preferred a towel.
And don’t we disarm ourselves and our own abilities to connect with nature when we valorise tech too much? After all, there are other ways to read the skies – for instance, going outside and looking at them. It sounds retro, but it’s working for Formula One. Alongside extremely expensive and cutting-edge forecasting software, some teams still use the original F1 method of weather spotters – these are people who literally look at the sky from up high and call in when they see an angry cloud heading the race’s way.
Then again, if we ditch the apps, how else will we justify the urban fashion trend du jour, gorpcore – inspired by hiking outfits (think waterproofs and weather resistant footwear) – named after “good old raisins and peanuts” (GORP) AKA trail mix? The inspired capability of a technical raincoat has many benefits – protecting wearers not just from rain, but the city elements (namely, flying beer in the pub), but without the prospect of real weather it does lack a certain je ne sais quoi.
For me I think I’ll stick with the weather apps. I love the glimpse into other places they provide, and the way they introduce a little play in the day as we second guess their guesses. After all, it’s not really for the clouds that half of us are using them – but all the silver linings too.
Coco Khan is a freelance writer and co-host of the politics podcast Pod Save the UK
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