November 3, 2007 § 2 Comments
We’re preparing for a hurricane here. Although Noel maybe merely a Tropical Storm when it makes landfall, I was trained to prepare for the worst; locking away pool toys, patio furniture, and badminton nets in the garden shed; flipping over the trampoline; draping any remaining tomato plants with old polyester blankets; digging out the candles. In fact, my mother called this morning from her brother’s deathbed in Connecticut to inform me that a storm is coming, and I ought to take down the windchimes.
There’s less to do here, and my ever-conscientious husband has already looked after our puny garden, so I, ever-sensible, am spending the day snuggled up with Agatha Christie and Mervyn Peake. I’m trying to ignore the fact that our bedroom ceiling is likely to collapse when (if! I hope if!) it leaks tonight, and that I’m probably going to spend the next week or so sleeping in the study. Alas, our landlords are not as conscientious as Richard.
The Moomins, at least, are ready for the tempest.