Spring has not sprung just yet….

March 31, 2015 at 5:20 pm Leave a comment

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Spring is in the air and the daffodils have turned their faces towards the sun. The pheasants have begun to play chicken with the traffic in the lane, and the goshawks are performing their falling dance while they shriek their mating calls in the Cheshire skies.

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The local Waitrose has revealed its new outdoor seating area, to tempt the counties finest to sit a while with a latte and the Telegraph and discuss the upcoming election or simply admire the view over the carpark and the trolley park.

But the weather is not yet spring-like. It is wet. It is grey. It is cold. And, it is windy. No not a malevolent, Biblical wind. Not a hurricane, or a tornado, or a tropical cyclone. But still, it is unseasonably windy. Especially for Cheshire.

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Our one hundred and sixty year old house has been buffeted for the past twenty four hours by a steady forty mile per hour wind, with gusts of up to sixty. It went on throughout the night, and C and I huddled under the bedsheets in fear of tiles being ripped from the roof, and ancient glass cracking in their rattling, shaking panes.

We listened expectantly for the sound of crashing trees and smashing patio furniture as the wind whooshed and whistled through the house and the very bricks and mortar rattled, creaked and groaned in complaint.

This morning, we pulled back the curtains, bleary-eyed from lack of sleep, expecting to see a scene of desolation and devastation laid out before us. But no. The mighty copper beech still stood watch over the garden furniture and the gazebo remained grounded. The lawn was not strewn with slate. We had survived.

Indeed, the only visible sign of the night’s storm was a blue, plastic watering can which had clearly been ripped from a neighbour’s garden and flung violently across our lawn to its final resting place beneath our hedge. Not quite the end of the world, but it could have put someone’s eye out…..

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But we awoke tired. Bone tired. And, the unrelenting gale did not allow us the respite of an afternoon snooze on the sofa. And so, we remain tired. Tired like the mother in Babadook. And, with the prospect of another stormy night before us, I am going to hide all sharp objects and keep C away from children’s books……

Stay safe people of Cheshire.

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Entry filed under: Bradwall, humour, middleman, weather. Tags: , , , .

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