Fucking hell. Fucking fucking fucksticking bollocking hell.
When I landed on the Isle of Wight, which is apparently the island version of Royston Vasey these days, it was a bit shitty weather wise. The ferry was very slightly choppy, which I naturally freaked out at. By this time into the 8 hour journey my nerves were shot as I was convinced my fat cat was dying of stress in the back of the van.
Turns out it was me.
As soon as I let him out of his cat box he ambled around, yawned, stretched and stuffed his fat cheeks like nothing had ever happened.
It started raining when I arrived here. And it hasn't stopped yet. Four days on and it's been an unrelenting stream of icy water, sweeping from the sea and battering the back of our exposed house.
Last night, just as I was about to settle down with some right shit telly and maybe even a small Baileys, some kind of mega ultra storm from hell descended. The gods are apparently pissed the fuck off. Horizontal rain drove water through the tops and bottoms of the windows of our jerry-built conservatory until it was uncontrollably streaming through all the gaps and destroying everything in sight.
At times like this one discovers their inner metal.
I don't have any.
I have inner cotton wool.
I just wanted to lie down and let it all just happen.
But instead I got some of that weird plastic sealant stuff and bodged it on to the windows with my bare hands. Stood bare foot in streaming water trying to seal gaps like some fool sticking their finger into the Hoover Dam. That was me. Then I realised that maybe the fact that water streaming through the electrics wasn't the best thing that ever happened, so we turned those off.
Upstairs the window that was slightly broken before the storm hit became extremely broken indeed. Water streaming through upstairs and downstairs, wind that you can't hear each other yell over, no defences and not much clue what to do.
We watched Jane Eyre through the eye of the storm and it cheered me up quite a lot. Fassbender as Rochester is one of the best casting decisions since Harrison Ford and everything he's ever done. But there's only so much distraction one can derive from a film when the wind is howling and everything is crashing and rattling and vehicles are stuck on the hill outside and for a moment it feels like this is actually it. The end of the world as we know it. The apocalypse. The very damp apocalypse.
Eventually we slept to wake up to detritus aplenty and more water than you ever want to see in places it shouldn't be.
I may have got up this morning and had a small weep. Which is exactly what one doesn't need when one needs to be all dynamic and problem solving. But a few hours later and the calm after this storm and before the next on Friday means that joy to the world is restored.
I can see sunshine streaming through the rain covered window panes and I can hear that the wind is a small howl instead of a screaming roar.
So, I may be living in a weird world where nothing works (no mobile, dodgy telly and patchy WiFi) and a world where apparently gale force 10 winds are the norm, but I'm finally feeling the stir of a tiny festive feeling deep inside.
It could be time to get the tree up. Maybe.