Column: Danger of crying wolf with too many weather warnings

As a kid growing up, I recall some massive snowdrifts and ice everywhere, but the world kept spinning.

And slipping and sliding …

Schools rarely closed, offices weren’t evacuated early, and no-one indulged in panic buying enough food to see them through a nuclear winter let alone a pretty standard Scottish one.

Today? We shutdown at the first sign of a snowflake drifting on to a car bonnet.

Ever since the Beast From The East blew in back in 2018 – a real, proper, life-halting number – the whole weather industry has racked up alerts to the point I fear we’ve stopped actually listening.

The warnings have become background noise. We’ve zoned out of the endless alerts because the forecasters have cried wolf once too often.

And that’s dangerous because we need that information more than ever as our weather patterns change.

I understand why storms now have names, but turning them into slightly scary characters has actually minimised the damage and disruption they can cause.

Bit ironic considering two of the reasons were to raise awareness of the dangers and ensure greater public safety.

I’ve already forgotten who Storms A and B were named after, and now we’re bidding adieu to Storm Dennis even before the end of February.

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I know some people were badly affected by Storm Ciara, but, for the majority, it was just a bit dreich. Bit like most Februarys.

Who is next? Well, brace yourself for Ellen, Grancis, Gerda and Hugh – or Storm Shuggie as he will almost certainly be known.

If we do wade through the entire alphabet then Storms Tara, Vince and Willow beckon.

We need to forget the names and focus on getting the message across – specific information to ensure people do stay safe.

One person’s “stay indoors” alert is another’s “it’s just a bit windy” which is why the warnings need to be as local as possible. At the height of Storm Dennis, I saw three blokes in shorts ands flip-flops as they mooched into Morrisons.

Sure, it was miserable outside, but not life-threatening, while up in Cupar, roads were submerged.

And that’s the other problem with generic alerts.

The weather is ultra local. Glenrothes has its own climate and can be three feet deep in snow while that drops slightly for the top of Kirkcaldy and dwindles to almost nothing in the town centre – my own barometer on how bad things are is if the High Street is covered in snow.

And while it’s dangerous to reflect through rose-tinted specs, I’m old enough to remember the epic winter of the 1970s which did bring Edinburgh to a standstilll.

Back then Radio Forth became the voice of the city as it kept people connected and rallied a remakarble band of volunteers to check on Mrs Smith in Leith, and picking up the Jones’ family stranded in the Braid Hills.

It engaged everyone and made a huge difference.

How ironic that in a world of 24/7 communication those same messages are now lost in a sea of froth.