Saturday: Fears are rising in Times towers this week at a lack of communication from our erstwhile Weatherman. Last week he embarked on an epic voyage across Europe, leaving with windy promises of regular weather updates, delivered from his tropical paradise while sipping white wine spritzers by the pool. However, he’s completely ignoring our calls and emails, leaving me to have a stab at “predicting” the weather. Sunny.

Sunday: All sorts of theories are abounding about what might have happened. He did refuse the offer of a European sat nav, muttering something about the “romance” of spreading the map on the bonnet of the car and working out where he would go, so he’s quite probably lost. My bet is he reached the wine-growing region of France, stopped to sample some local produce and “forgot” about his duties. Cloudy.

Next week: Having called the British embassies in five different countries we’re convinced he’s not languishing in jail after some heinous driving offence. My bet is he’s had too many sangrias and broken his laptop. This weather lark is much easier than he makes it look – although the last time I studied weather patterns I was 14 and more interested in trying to get off with Emma who sat next to me in geography. Rain.