Monday, 11 June 2018

The crash ...

... came from the hall and was impossible to ignore.

I was watching something facile on Netflix trying to block out the sound of the wind and rain, the thunder and Vita's anxious pawing at the furniture.

But the crash needed attention.  A sharp command to two anxious dogs to "Stay!" and I opened the door from the lounge.

The old, rickety french windows were flung open and horizontal driving rain from the east (from the EAST! It never rains from the east) was pouring into the hall, soaking the scruffy Indian carpet purchased for next to nothing in a junk shop.  A pool of water spread across the concrete floor and under the spare computer tucked beneath a card table awaiting Tod's attention.

I dragged the windows to and tried to lock them together, but knew they would not hold for any length of time in this gale. 

It felt like an old disaster movie as I clutched at the handles "Fetch the storm shutters Annie-Mae and be quick about it gal!". But I had no storm shutters and any help was soundly asleep (heaven only know how) and gently snoring.  If not woken by the crash he certainly wouldn't be by any distant shouting as I clung onto the wooden frames.

Forced to leave the rattling windows, I dragged the green leather sofa that had been an unfortunate choice and had been banished to the hall across the sodden carpet and wedged it against the doors hoping it would be enough to hold them.

In the lounge, the dogs had not moved, shocked into obedience by the urgency of my command.  I returned to Netflix and to my surprise they both settled down contentedly.  Obviously I'd sorted out whatever was wrong and all was well.

We wake to remarkably little damage - battered roses and a branch down from one of the lime trees.  The météo promises that summer starts this coming Thursday.  After weeks of storms described as "a national disaster" - for farmers, for builders, for the tourist industry - it can't come a day too soon.