It was in November 2015 that the UK first started naming storms. Forerunner Storm Abigail brought high winds, rain, lightning and snow to northern parts. I am one of many who cynically rolled their eyes a little at a seemingly grandiose attempt at mirroring the dramas associated with the catastrophic effects of the named hurricanes in the USA, such as the devastating Hurricane Katrina of 2005 which caused nearly 2,000 fatalities around New Orleans, the likes of which we never see in the UK.
In the past, we always just called them “windy days”. In comparison to the storms in other parts of the world, that is all that they are. Here, we never experience extremes of any weather conditions, be it cold, heat, snow or wind. Maybe we were beginning to feel a little left out, so someone in the Met Office decided to big things up to make it seem as if we have things worse than we really do, adopting a “little man syndrome” approach.
A few days ago, Storm Dudley decided to hit our island, causing the residents to only venture out if they were to protect themselves with hats and coats. Not a good idea to cycle anywhere or drive a high-sided lorry over the Severn Bridge, of course, and after the new “agile working” that has developed as a result of the recent pandemic, many people were advised to work from home.
Melanie did just this, as another windy day hit the headlines with pictures of sea hitting the coastline making big splashes, and people struggling with umbrellas. The nature of my job is such that I cannot work from home. I survived Dudley with my coat and hat. Almost immediately after Dudley had left a few overturned bins in its wake, Storm Eunice was anticipated. Eunice was going to be much, much worse. “Oh,” I thought, “maybe we shall be treated to a very windy day.”
“Are you sure you should go?” Melanie asked, as I was about to leave home at coastal Newport to work in Abergavenny, 20 miles inland.
“Of course,” I replied, “it’ll be fine. It’s just going to be a very windy day. I have my coat and my hat, and important things to do.”
Inland, at Abergavenny, it really was a seriously hang-on-to-your-hat day. As I was going about my daily work, ducking and diving in and out of the weather at the office, but happily getting on with what I do, I was oblivious to the ferocious storm that was hitting my first floor apartment back down in Newport. Melanie and I send messages back and forth throughout the working day when we can, usually sharing something humorous. However, at about 11am, she sent me a message that a roof had blown off the flats opposite, and after flying at our kitchen window, directly at her, while she was looking out from the kitchen, luckily landed on the ground and partially, but harmlessly, into one of the downstairs apartments as the wind seemed to drop just at the right time. Had it continued on its course, it would have smashed through our kitchen, causing an unquantifiable amount of damage, and possibly injury to Melanie at the very least. The seriousness of this incident from this “windy day”, as I flippantly remarked, cannot be understated. It was a very, very close shave.
At Abergavenny, the winds were very strong, but nowhere near what was happening in Newport. When I arrived home, the clear-up operation was impossible as the weather was still too severe. I decided to venture out early the following morning, in an attempt to shift what I could, if I could, and also to hammer down the dozens of exposed two-inch nails, facing upwards and waiting for someone to impale their foot. Before I got started with the hammer, I thought it may be a good idea to see just how easy it was to shift the remains of the sodden roof in our back yard. As I tugged and pushed and lifted and dropped, and tugged and pulled and lifted again, I stepped back onto a rusty two-inch nail, which drove through my shoe and deep into my right foot just below my two little toes. I felt it pierce the skin and force its way through my foot and in between parts that had never before been touched by the outside. It didn’t reach through the other side, but I don’t think it was far away.
After a three-hour visit to Minor Injuries at the Royal Gwent Hospital, a tetanus injection and rather a lot of pain, I’m now seemingly on the road to recovery. But worse than the pain is the memory of the sensation of the nail being forced deep into my foot, which makes me shudder every time I think of it.
Melanie looked after me well as I was struggling to walk around, but couldn’t resist pointing out that this was Eunice’s way of punishing me for belittling her before I set out to work. Never again will I mock the naming of storms. For many, Storm Eunice will have had a much worse effect. We got lucky. Never again will I mock the naming of storms and refer to them as just “windy days”. I’ve learned my lesson.
Storm Franklyn is here now. He’s been making a bit of a racket and more trees have been blown down. We both know somebody who narrowly missed being hit by a falling tree earlier today while driving at speed just outside Newport. While Melanie is watching Call the Midwife, I just took a break from writing this blog to pour a gin and tonic. As I opened the bottle of tonic water, the built-up pressure squirted all over the kitchen floor. “Shit!” I exclaimed, as I saw the mess. Then I thought about what could have happened to our kitchen yesterday. I laughed.
Sorry Eunice.
Please visit markdpritchard.co.uk to see details of my book I’M NEVER ILL (A journey through brain surgery and beyond…), and follow our Twitter account @MarkandMels to see pictures from our photographic adventures.
MARK D PRITCHARD writes... 