Did you wake up this morning and have to shovel your way through feet of snow in an attempt to get to work? I doubt it, but the truth is, in common with most weather forecasters, I really don't know.

For I am penning these words yesterday (if you see what I mean) and in the meteorologically erratic UK the forces of nature have a habit confounding scientific predictions based on the calculations of zillions of pounds worth of equipment. In other words, weatherwise, anything, however unlikely, can happen and just occasionally it does.

What I do know is that right now Britain is in the grip of what we like to call "a cold snap", temperatures have plummeted, there are severe weather warnings and, predictably, everyone is talking about it.

It's what we do in this country - talk about the weather. As climate patterns across the globe become more unsettled people in other countries will probably become adept at this practise too.

We're way ahead. We've been obsessed with the weather for centuries. It features in novels by Jane Austen, Charles Dickens and Thomas Hardy. It was central to one of Shakespeare's most famous plays. OK I know The Tempest isn't actually set in the British Isles but it was written by an Englishman with an Englishman's preoccupations.

So it is that with freezing temperatures closing in and one forecaster who has alarmingly predicting that the big chill could plunge as far as minus 17 degrees centigrade, the nation has gone into verbal overdrive, There's a little bit of worrying about what might happen but most of the chat is based on the sheer comfort and joy derived from talking about the weather. Older folk are reminiscing about the great snow storms of 1962-63, others remember the hurricane of '87 and you don't have to search too far to find someone who can recall seeing ice in the English Channel.

Then there are those who claim to be able to predict the weather with everything from aching joints, to throbbing teeth and even twinges from bits of shrapnel left over from war wounds. I once met a man who claimed he could forecast rain with his hair. It'd go all curly two or three hours before an approaching storm.

However let's get back to that minus 17 degree forecast. You'll be relieved to hear that senior Met Office spokesman Stephen Davenport, doesn't have a lot of time for it.

"Apocalyptic predictions verging on prophecies of a new Ice Age need to be put into perspective," he said rather sniffily and promptly pointed out that raw winds in the middle of winter are hardly unknown.

Indeed but I have just one thing to say: Remember Michael Fish - the Met' man who back in October 1987 told us that suggestions that a hurricane was heading for the south coast of England were decidedly wide of the mark. Twelve hours later he was eating his words.

Keep warm!