I recently read the most extraordinary statistic.

Apparently the average Briton spends six months of their life talking about the weather. Six months. That's easily long enough to learn the fundamentals of a new language, build a house or read the complete works of Dickens.

That average is probably even higher in Scotland - be honest, how long have you spent moaning about the weather over the last few weeks of rain, wind, hail and central heating? If you're anything like me, it probably mounts up to a long weekend.

The weather is such a national obsession that not only do we have more than 100 words for rain, many of our most commonly used idioms are based on meteorology. A cheery type is said to have a sunny personality. When we're feeling ill, we're under the weather. Our relationships with others are often said to be stormy. How did the language evolve this way? I haven't the foggiest.

It got me thinking about small talk, which from a young age is absorbed by osmosis as vital part of social interaction. Of course, it's completely different in most parts of Europe, which can make social interactions rather disorientating.

Talk about the warm sunny weather with people in the south of France, as I did recently - in French, I hasten to add - and they are likely to shrug dismissively. Of course it's sunny. End of. And beware of asking Germans how they are doing, unless you want a full and frank assessment of their health, including bowel movements.

The Germans are particularly suspicious of small talk - they don't have anything similar in their more direct language and culture. For them, small talk is frustrating, even lying. It's a complete waste of time.

While living in Berlin last year I would often, in the way one does, say things that I didn't really mean as an ice-breaker (there's another weather-based one) or polite sign-off. It's what we do. "You really must come and visit me in Scotland," I would smile wanly. "My work commitments will not allow this," I would be told straight as I shuffled off awkwardly.

I've not seen the figures but I can guarantee that Germans don't spend six months of their lives talking about the weather. Incidentally, their productivity is far higher than ours.

So, maybe we should we give up on small talk? Oh, let's not. It's too ingrained in who we are. It's too useful. It's too comforting. But I'd be happy to vary the topics. Perhaps weather on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays only. The rest of the week? Damn. I can't think of anything I'd rather talk about.