In his second collection, Northern Irish poet Ross Thompson reflects upon disappearance: the vanishing acts of people, places and the past itself through fire, frost or forgetting. The Slipping Forecast is a book haunted by spectres of the unsaid and unrequited, by phantoms of the nearly was and the could have been, a book that inhabits the in-between states of memory, dream and woozy post-surgery anaesthetic where liminal boundaries are blurred and disquieting.