Editorial: Tame wind and you've got my vote

Hot air ... there's been a lot of it about lately.

But don't get me wrong, I am not about to unsettle your Saturday morning with my view, my slant, my take, my version of the political arena, although how a conversation by two blokes over a cuppa can apparently throw the country off its axis is anybody's guess.

I am more concerned about this other wind circulating, and if it continues with the pollen-laced venom it produced yesterday then I shall call a halt to paying my rates, and the end-of-year income tax thing, until something is done about it.

Greek singer Demis Roussos once put out a song called My Friend the Wind - and I am assuming it was to do with the zephyrs which caress Athens and not the result of a lively souvlaki.

Now Demis is from a land which has fallen into a sort of financial abyss, so I'm not at all sure he is the best person to adjudge who a good companion would be.

As far as I (and my sinuses and lungs) are concerned, the winds of November possess no friendship whatsoever.

I put my annual hatred of the wild and warm winds to a chemist (or are they pharmacists these days) and was told that I am not alone.

He said even those who were not afflicted with the airborne rubbish the winds carry will remark on this gusty devil whilst waiting for their purchases to be wrapped.

My mother would sum up the equinoctial wind perfectly.

"Drives me up the wall," she would bark ... although I have left one word out of that line as we are a family newspaper.

I have just now taken a small brown pill to (allegedly) clear my head and in four hours time the packet tells me to take it again.

I am perplexed. "Take one pill every four hours."

What ... the same pill?

That means I have to get it back somehow ... my friend the wind indeed.

The power of the wind is more severe than any election, any promise, any ratings or any conversation sneakily taped.

It sent a 77,500 tonne ship packing yesterday afternoon because it was just too strong.

The white faces of the people exiting the cabins of passenger aircraft at the airport also told a story which I am very tempted to send off to Mr Roussos.

The wind, there's a lot of it about.

Johnny boy?

Goffy?

Winnie?

Tame the wind and you've got my ballot slip.