Anti-cyclone Mum

HOW would you feel if your name were Larry?

I suppose you haven’t actually killed anybody; just vandalised an area bigger than the whole of Britain and Ireland.

I can’t see Larry’s mum standing up in court and telling the judge: “He’s a good boy really, your honour.”

Because it’s hard to see anything good in a cyclone. They’re not actually evil either, as it happens. Just totally indifferent, which is just as bad.

But who decided to call it Larry! And why?

Were they beaten up at school by a Larry?

And can they be sued by all the other Larrys, who probably are good boys. Really. Larrys who pat dogs and grow roses and kiss their wives.

This is what comes of entrusting the naming of a power more destructive than King Kong to an individual, who might have a personal grudge against a Larry, or a Tracey, or a Katrina.

Why isn’t it a committee responsibility, with representation from all sections of the community, and probably the council. Of course, the cyclone would have reached the Indian Ocean and turned into a zephyr by the time they reached a decision, but at least the world’s Larrys wouldn’t be made to feel like pariahs.

Such a naming could send useful messages to people in power, too. Depending on your point of view you could go with Cyclone Osama, or Cyclone George. In recognition of the recent Queensland Health debacle, maybe Cyclone Larry should have been Cyclone Peter.

All men, note.

This makes sense to me. It’s men who are generally the destructive forces in the world. Why it’s traditional to name cyclones after women I just can’t understand.

Ships, yes. A ship can be a thing of beauty and dreams – but it can also be a pain in the arse, which is entirely reminiscent of every woman I ever met.

But a cyclone has no redeeming features. We should call them all Cyclone Rambo and be done with it.

It’s remarkable in this scientific age that we don’t just number them instead. But at heart I guess there’s still a lot of the savage in all us; a sneaking suspicion that the weather has a personality; that it’s not just unpredictable, but malevolent, too.

One assumes that the gender change occurred because women were tired of copping all the bad press, but maybe that’s not true. I mean, we actually have no idea how they do get named.

Maybe they use a pin. Maybe there’s a bloke in a meteorological office somewhere, reading the latest date, who telephones his wife and says: “I think we’ve got another one. What would you like me to call it?”

And she, having just had a row with her best friend, replies: “Jolene.” And forever after everyone who meets Jolene will think mayhem and chaos.

Maybe we changed them to men because the guys objected that women were getting the credit for a natural phenomenon with all the hallmarks of too much testosterone.

Now there’s a thought: we name cyclones, so why not anti-cyclones? They’re the stable high-pressure areas that are generally benign, bringing sunshine and gentle winds.

We could call them Florence, or Mary, or Mum.