Somehow I feel I need to quote the great Jerome K. Jerome, contemporary of Oscar Wilde, here:
"George got hold of the paper, and read us out the boating fatalities, and the weather forecast, which latter prophesied 'rain, cold, wet to fine' (whatever more than usually ghastly thing in weather that may be), 'occasional local thunder-storms, east wind, with general depression over the Midland Counties (London and Channel). Bar. falling.'
I do think that, of all the silly, irritating tomfoolishness by which we are plagued, this 'weather-forecast' fraud is about the most aggravating. It 'forecasts' precisely what happened yesterday or the day before, and precisely the opposite of what is going to happen to-day. . . .
It was too bright and sunny on this especial morning for George’s blood-curdling readings about 'Bar. falling,' 'atmospheric disturbance, passing in an oblique line over Southern Europe,' and 'pressure increasing,' to very much upset us: and so, finding that he could not make us wretched, and was only wasting his time, he sneaked the cigarette that I had carefully rolled up for myself, and went."