Red warning

I knew there was a storm coming when I woke this morning - not because of any portents but because we'd all been told its name days ago. But I didn't know it was going to be the subject of a red warning as far as our bit of the country is concerned - I don't recall ever being subject to such a thing before - and I was totally taken aback when I looked up from my phone while drinking my tea and saw the dark sky split by a red gash, like a wound. Half an hour later, when I was clothed and ready to go out shopping, the clouds had cleared and the whole south-eastern sky was on fire, so much so that I think it deserves an extra photo. 

The shop was quiet, the stock reasonable, though by the time I came out an hour later the car-park was pretty full and the rain had started. I found myself in the usual post-supermarket state of righteous torpor, and having done my Italian permitted myself a great deal of scrolling as well as a phone chat with my sister. One result of this generated a reply from me to a comment on Threads about the role of the church in American politics and that sermon - as a result of which my watch has been buzzing ever since as people "liked" what I said - to date 1,081 of them.

I was happy to see that my wandering son was safely home after his swift trans-Atlantic flight, and might have spent the entire afternoon sitting at my computer had not my usual compulsion asserted itself and dragged us both out for a walk in the rain. We walked along the old road and back - it's sheltered - and were rewarded by a dry window and some lovely golden light. Another joyous realisation was that it was still daylight at 4.45pm ... and then the warnings started.

I was on my phone to Di talking about our attending Diocesan Synod (as you do) when the warning went off. I've heard of such things in Other Places, but it was as alarming as realising a nuclear attack was imminent, blaring in my ear and vibrating at the same time - while Di, who for some reason didn't get it on her phone, clearly thought I'd lost my reason. That's when I learned that our Amber warning had escalated to Red, and read that we should close our loft hatch firmly (I boggle, but we did - it's usually left open with the ladder down, because it's stiff and we know it's there and besides my wet trousers were hanging from it to dry.) It also said to close internal doors, know where our passports were, assemble necessary medications ... and I began to visualise our stone house blowing down, or the roof flying off, or ... I decided it was time to make dinner and have a drink.

So that's where we are now. It's midnight, and the utter calm of the past two days has been replaced by the sound of air moving over the water. The barometer has fallen by a quarter of the dial and the gas stove is where we can find it in case of a power failure. We have plenty of candles (of course we do!) and a torch or two, and I've recharged my phone charger. 

A demain, me amis ... all the best, especially if you too live in a red zone!