Huffing and Puffing

The obelisks are down, the bins on their sides, and the big windows in the kitchen have felt as if they might burst in at any second. Thanks Doris. Hugo and I retreated into the sitting room at one stage, so frightening were the gusts, but so far so good. When I took him out for a pee it literally squirted sideways. Luckily I was downwind of him at the time. I paid a flying visit to Framlingham this morning to get some essentials, leaving the boy at home, and had to hold my breath every time I went near an oak tree with their dead branches hanging perilously over the road. By the time I got back my willow was sweeping the ground in a circle from the force of the charge, literally bent double. At least it was never going to snap. After I cleared the pond out and drained the water last week I set up a system of hoses to refill it from the three butts. How annoying to discover that, with the morning's heavy rain, I'd made a mistake and one of them had drained into the ground. What a waste. 

It has been really unpleasant listening to the wind all day, and so I distracted myself with some basic housework. With guests coming to lunch and tea on Sunday, and an afternoon of bridge, it is always a good excuse to get cleaning and tidying. Thanks to my source of free just-published and proof copies of books I am now overwhelmed and will have to build more bookcases. But I can never have too many. To drown out the sound of the banshees outside I listened to the opera on 3, Donizetti's Rosmonda d'Inghiliterra, and it was the spit of Lucia di Lammamoor, wonderfully lyrical and tragic, just what I needed.

The wind is still blowing hard but it's much calmer now, and we were able to attend to our toilet without getting blown over. Hugo always makes me smile, or laugh out loud, on these occasions because, once he's finished, he darts to the back door and whirls around like a giddy thing until I open it. Then he charges to the treats cupboard where he gets his one goodie of the day. He's fast asleep now and I'm about to follow him. Nick tomorrow, a gardening day. And so it goes round.