…that we get to listen to news of the weather gods wreaking havoc over the south of England while we sit securely in Scotland suffering not much more than some heavy showers interspersed with autumn sunshine.
We had friends visiting from London this weekend which has meant two-and-a-half days of chatting, cooking, eating, drinking, sitting by the fire playing silly games (Bananagrams – the gateway drug to Scrabble – followed by Texas Hold’em with the contents of the penny jar), not spending any time on the internet, and above all going out for long walks in unsuitable weather.* I found the walking surprisingly hard going; I’ve become a bit lazy and just cycle everywhere these days. We had a few culinary adventures as well, from a huge cauliflower fungus found in the woods to my less-than-huge sole surviving celeriac (hastily christened Cedric).
Our friends left this lunchtime to find out whether anything remains of southern England after the storm. They have stocked up with plentiful supplies of Criffel, so should society have broken down altogether under the pressure of power cuts, train breakdowns and Waitroses being closed for up to a week, they should be able to hole up somewhere safe and repel any attackers with the smell
Meanwhile we will batten down the hatches and await whatever punishment the fates have in store for us for being sarky about the storm.
*I’ll hold my hands up right now and and admit that visiting the local peat bog might have been a mistake. Still, it taught the youngest of a party a valuable lesson about how wellies don’t do much to keep your feet dry when you’re in up to your knees.