T’is the silly season. Time to celebrate larrikins-a-leaping, maids-a-milking, hounds-a-hunting, geese-a-gabbling, politicians-a-posturing, progressives-a-plotting and some climate conundrums in song. (Tune: Twelve Days of Christmas).
On the first day of Christmas,
Catholic Online sent to me
More climate fare from the Holy Chair,
And a post-truth partridge in a pear tree.
On the third day of extreme-weather,
An angel sent to me
A message from Jehovah, another super-Nova,
And a Paltridge in a pear tree.
On the fourth day of weird-weather,
Project Stardust sent to me
Something from a gutter that made me splutter
But no alarmist from the IPCC.
On the fifth day of Christmas,
America’s Geophysical Union sent to me
Feelings of anger, panic and fear;
Free of charge, without a fee.
On the seventh day of extreme weather,
Cool La Nina sent to me
News that El Niño’s fading fast.
The scare just couldn’t last, said she.
On the eighth day of eco-worrying,
Scott and Shackleton sent a message to me:
Little change in sea ice in a century, that’s nice;
And fifty penguins in a pear tree.
On the ninth day of Goldilocks weather,
Someone on the Hill sent a card to me:
Wow! Energy security’s the buzz-word now;
And one hundred politicians in a baobab tree.
On the tenth day of unsustainable power,
The Market Energy Operator sent a report to me:
Relax, it said, the generational mix is fine;
And one thousand windmills in a pro bono publico tree.
On the eleventh day of Christmas,
Two RMIT fellows sent a recipe to me:
Eat the roo, not the moo,
And ten thousand turkeys in a peer tree.
On the twelfth day of Christmas,
A prophecy came to me:
Curses! The alarmist circus is,
Perhaps, running out of time.
— Michael Kile
18 December 2016