Kathleen

I'm not sure it was a good idea to name these storms - Kathleen seems awfully far down the alphabet. But it's been an interesting day watching the storm unfold in these parts: my first photo of the morning, which I don't feel I can add to the clutch I'm posting today, was of the distant hills to the north on which the snow was clearly melting; I can clearly make out the flat grey line of the sea beneath them. By mid-morning, however, the sea was anything but flat, and I was unable to hang out of the customary window to take photos because I'd have been blown into the garden below. It was high tide by this time, and all the more dramatic for that. I've chosen a photo which shows the waves hitting the East Bay shore just across the road from where my friend Paddy lives, and you can see what was happening to the several cars that had been parked on the sea side of the road - I wonder if their owners bothered to watch the weather forecast? And then I noticed the red and white of the Western Ferries vessel - our lifeline every time we go over the water - edging out from Hunter's Quay, and felt it deserved a photo too, so that's the first extra. 

I eventually tore myself away from the drama but instead of doing anything useful I found myself looking at old photos on Flickr - mainly of my now teenage grandchildren when they were small and came to stay, free from the obligations of study for Highers or football or whatever. It doesn't seem long ago to us, but to them it feels like forever. 

Himself had been out all this while, practising in the wind-harrowed church, and when he came home for lunch I think we both fell asleep over the papers. When we both came to we decided a walk would be a Good Thing, as this storm didn't seem to be bringing us much in the way of rain, so I fished my still-sodden trainers from under the radiator, removed the damp Boot Bananas from them, put them on quickly so's I wouldn't notice and headed out into the gale.

We could see that the sky was actually light to the south, so that's where we went, leaving our car at Toward Primary School and walking along the shore road to the Ardyne, beside the sea, into the teeth of the gale. It was rather amazing - seagulls sideslipped screaming above us, somehow stationary as the wind rushed by them; the woods to our right thrashed worryingly with the sound of a motorway; the sea, tide now retreating but still menacing, roared on our left. Along the Ardyne a wire fence joined the cacophony with dismal wails as we fought to keep our feet on the more exposed beachside road, and we exchanged breathless hilarities with total strangers walking dogs. I remembered how we always said that our pupils were crazy on days of wind, and felt that we too had joined the crazy brigade. By the time we got back to the car, I was sweating under my jacket and totally exhausted. My second extra was taken on that wind-assisted return leg, looking north along the coast under a sky that couldn't decide whether it was blue or grey. 

We called by the church on our way home to run through a couple of new hymns for tomorrow, hijacking the server who had just come up to lock the building to come and sing them with me - it was sociable and slightly mad, just like the afternoon.

Now the wind seems to have dropped a good bit, and the shower that passed as we were making dinner has left little trace. My watch says the temperature outside is still 9ºC. Hope all the blippers I know on this side of the Pond haven't blown away ...