So, there is going to be a great storm. Or maybe not. Our neighbours must be feeling pleased that they had the huge Lombardy poplar near their house reduced by a third last Friday, and not booked in for next Tuesday. We had a letter from UK Power Networks warning us of a planned power cut in our area on Wednesday 6th November, to allow them to trim trees near power lines. Pity they couldn't have done that a couple of weeks ago as well. If cardunculus fails to post tomorrow, it's a fair bet we've lost our power. The Systems Administrator has charged the back-up dongle, so we should have internet access, but the battery on this laptop won't hold its charge for the time it takes to reply to an e-mail.
The forecast for Essex isn't as bad as it is for the west country, and Kent, but we have prepared more carefully than we normally do for run-of-the-mill autumn gales. The steamer chairs and barbecue on the veranda are roped to the railings, to stop them blowing through the window, and the chairs from the lower deck have been tucked in the lee of the 'Tai Haku' and a large rose bush, well away from the conservatory windows. The metal table from the Italian garden is now upside down on the lawn, below the daffodil bank, so that it can't fall over and shouldn't blow anywhere, and the metal chairs are leaning folded up against the daffodil bank.
I've taken my row of terracotta pots of succulents off the top of the wall by the patio, so that they can't blow off and smash themselves on the paving slabs, and cut the blue glass baubles down from the 'Red Sentinel' to prevent them thrashing around in the wind until the metal loops for hanging them up give way. The last of the pots from the Italian garden are now tucked up inside the greenhouse, a job which should have been done weeks ago anyway. The pineapple sage, which I have been muttering at fiercely for failing to produce any spikes of bright red flowers, is finally in bud. Reading the label I see that its flowering period is given as 'throughout the winter' so that has gone to live in the conservatory. I think it needs a bigger pot.
The conservatory doors are shut, as are the greenhouse doors and vents, and the velux roof window in the bathroom. None of the vehicles are parked under trees. We have several pints of milk, plenty of loo roll, and a whole slab of cat food. A torch. Candles.
And that's it. It's difficult to know what else to do. I spent a long time looking out of the bathroom window this morning, hoping that none of my trees would blow down or lose major limbs. By late lunchtime the barometer was falling fast, and the cats were hunched and nervous in their baskets (apart from the fat indignant tabby, who was soundly asleep in my wooden trug with an attitude of confident relaxation). Can cats tell when worse weather is on the way, or were we projecting our own concerns on to them?
I hope we don't lose too much felt off the shed roofs, it is such a performance replacing it. I hope the house roof stays on, though it did in 1987. I hope that not too many plants get badly broken, and that the ornaments scattered around the garden survive unscathed. I hope (and believe) that the chicken's house is heavy enough, and sheltered enough by our house, to stay put.
Probably after all this build up it will just be a bit windy, here in north Essex. The general weather forecast doesn't look too bad. The shipping forecast for sea area Thames, on the other hand, is for severe gale 9 to violent storm 11 for a time, perhaps hurricane force 12 later. We'll see.
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