Notes from the Isles
One of my somewhat hubristic assertions has always been that I prefer ‘proper’ weather: rain should drench; sun should burn; the wind should be violent: there should be no boring dreich compromises. I am now regretting such idiocy.
A series of bad storms hit us recently, serious enough to have names: Dudley, Corrie, Eunice… with Gladys approaching as I write. Dudley was my nemesis. The house shook, the tiles flew like falling leaves, a fence was flattened; worst of all, the electricity was cut off for two days. I could cope with no lighting, heating, hot water,
