Storm Eunice passes through

Living – as I now do – some distance away from any metropolis that matters one has to get used to the complicating factors that come with the territory – both literal and metaphorical.

There exists a degree of “community feel” in the locality.

Somebody began a WhatsApp group at the beginning of the Covid pandemic period (this before we arrived to live here) which has since built up a welcome degree of “neighbours helping each other out”, both as regards practical matters but also sharing of information that might potentially be of general use, e.g. reporting of nearby traffic accidents, roadworks and/or hold-ups which might delay anyone needing to go out and/or about to set off to drive to an appointment or similar.

One aspect of living slightly “off grid” – I’m now generalising because properties here range from those that are as fully connected “to the mains” as any city-dweller to those that get their “utilities” via a variety of Heath Robinson-like means, or indeed (in some cases) barely at all!

It was therefore with some degree of trepidation that this week our community awaited the arrival of Storms Dudley and Eunice – and, of course, particularly the latter since the former seemed fated to affect Scotland and the north of England more than anywhere down south.

Though from Tuesday onwards the winds had been noticeably fresher than normal, yesterday had been preceded by media warnings of both the amber and red (the highest of all) variety from the meteorologists that it would be the south-west and south of England’s day of reckoning as far as Storm Eunice was concerned.

I had originally figured that since Eunice was billed to hit the UK in the wee hours – the ones in which I tend to get up to begin my “day shift” – I would be able to “watch” the storm on most of its progress.

I had got that wrong. Even winds travelling at 70 miles per hour will take four to five hours to reach the south-east from Cornwall, Wales or Bristol.

It was therefore between late morning and noon before Eunice joined us in all her glory.

I could tell this because by then the trees around us were whistling and swaying violently back and forth, the air had become decidedly bracing … and the dogs, who sleep together in the kitchen – and who ordinarily become wildly excited when about 8.00am every day your author approaches them dressed to the nines in a heavy coat, woolly hat, snood and wellington boots to take them out for their morning constitutional – took one look outside and turned on their heels to return to their preferred comatose position under the AGA.

Going out and about was one of those “pleasant/unpleasant” experiences.

I decided to patrol the homestead in order to see if there had been any damage – historic or potential. Very little, actually. Some twigs and branches had come loose, as had garden furniture and the doors to the (currently unused) swimming pool, but that was about it.

As the morning progressed, so did the developments. Our first local intrepid explorers-by-car soon reported that a couple of trees were down and others rallied to the cause when a neighbour became semi-trapped by a branch landing upon their garden gate.

Then the electricity power cut out at about 12.30pm.

This is not an unfamiliar occurrence in the area – power cuts are regarded an occupational hazard – but this one lasted until 8.30pm last night.

Eight hours of being denied of having your lights on, your television, your computer – or even just not being able to charge your smart phone – becomes very boring after an hour or so. You can hardly keep up with the latest news, apart from anything else.

That’s my experience anyway.

Having by 8.30pm done everything to plan for another twelve hours of darkness – and nothingness – it was then a semi-surreal experience for power then to be restored without any warning … and life (relatively) return to normal.

(Does anyone know what’s been happening with the Ukraine crisis?)