I'd been pretty blasé about the great storm that was forecast for Sunday night. I'd survived 1987 ok in London (though the awning over a neighbouring building site was blown away and landed on top of my car, successfully flattening it). We were out to dinner on Sunday evening and the wind was getting up, but I thought we'd been there before. The wind funnels up our road, so there are often times when it's a bit of a battle walking down it - particularly if you're accompanied by two small dogs that might be transformed into kites at any moment. It's even worse when there's horizontal rain in your face.
We had all of that for the final dog walk on Sunday evening. But the scary bit was in the early hours of the next morning. Wind howl down the chimneys is one thing, but feeling the house rock slightly is another. Again, we'd experienced this when staying next door in No. 8 when the building works were going on here in No. 7 - that part of the building is timber-framed, so there's a degree of give in it. When the bedside table starts rocking beside you it's a bit scary. However, I now know that it's even scarier when you're in No. 7, in the brick-built bit, and that starts moving. Reminding yourself that the place has stood for 200 years becomes quite difficult when the wind is hitting the side of the house like a giant hooligan.
Today, of course, the sky is clear and sunlit and it's difficult to imagine there was any problem at all. None of the trees on the other side of the valley seem to have been toppled, and we appear to have got off rather more lightly than other places. But I'd still like to have a good long time before we have a repeat.
Antony Mair
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