Outside, the Ford Explorer, loaded witn food and drink and medicines and blankets is rocking about wildly; you can't open the door or the tailgate without a real fear of them blowing off and away to Norway. There are evacuation warnings from the council, winds currently at around a hundred miles an hours and a blizzard due at 3.00. am; the truck is packed in case the roof comes off and we have to leg it, there have also been sea surges, flooding coastal buildings; we are about a hundred metres from the shore and the sea has never come this far; reliable reports, though, have had the windspeed at 160-180 mph, a few miles down the road, which might make history should they reach us. It is all very exciting, absolutely the best part of England, can't think why mr jgm2 would leave it for cissy Suffolk.
Mr Edward Bonkers, MP, of the Tory WeRNutters Group, ia agreeing with your correspondent that Mr CallHimFucked will return from the Brussels criminal loonybin wavimg a piece of toiletpaper , saying Dave In Our Time (and Nick.)
Unlike Captain Oates, I am not stepping outside, although I may have to ....
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Roof slates flying off my roof here erk. ( Tayside). Storm heading away from here hopefully !
Keep safe.
How are you managing to stay warm? Smoke coming back down the chimney? New boiler functioning? Long may your leccy hold out.
The best of luck to you old son. It's not always the best part of England....I know!!
The slates are a huge worry, if you're trying to get away; can't see them coming and they'd cut your fucking head off. The last time, about ten years back, sheets of glass from a conservatory were found nearly a hundred yards up the lane. These things always seem to kick-off at night and you're just trapped inside a maelstrom that you can hear but not see.
The electric is not so important - electronic nomads, we, the laptop works on battery for a good while, there's a Rayburn and some fires and loads of candles; it's the daemons howling around the cabin door which rattle one's cage, if we lived in a cave we could just roll a stone in front, these doors and windows and roofs, though, make us hostage. Fuck it, probably the worst thing that can happen is homelessness.
I was out and about in the soft South this afternoon, Mr I, and the motorway was strewn with high-sided debris and disaster. And a heck of a storm passed by here at about 8pm. Keep thee safe in the warm and away from those howlin' winds.
Mr I: get down in your wine cellar and stop sounding like a big girl.
Hope your stout walls resisted the blast of the tempest, Mr I.
Suffolk Mr I? Not a bit of it. West Sussex.
It was a bit blowy here yesterday too but not enough to take out any trees locally. Had the same problem with our conservatory (greenhouse actually) when we lived in Fucking Scotland. Sheets of glass disappearing with the wind. The trouble is once you've lost one even a relatively light wind gets in through the gap and takes the rest. I replaced 'em with plastic in the end. Got sick of picking up bits of broken glass and wondering where the bits I couldn't find are and will some kid find 'em for me when they fall over some day.
Anyway - hope you're safe and well. And remember - Fucking Scotland is deserted for a reason. It's shit. As a remote sanctuary from the coming breakdown of civilisation it might have some superficial appeal but I'd rather die quickly in England than drag out my life in Fucking Scotland.
The cellar's been filled-in, and the well, some previous, English DIY-er, improving things.
Yes, thanks, we survived the night's gales and the promised blizzard is not yet here.
Big girl is it? And this from an adoptive abo-basher, yet.
Used to have a cellar when we lived in Fucking Scotland. It had an indoor water feature during heavy rain ie practically all the time in Fucking Fife. All previous owners had given up trying to waterproof the cellar and had literally cut a conduit in the floor which meandered through the cellar and let it out into a drain on the other side of the house.
Astonishingly the house down here in beautiful West Sussex has a fucking nuclear shelter in it. I kid you not. Blast-proof door that weights a fucking ton - I know that because the bloody frame rotted away and was dangling on one hinge and wouldn't shut so I had to replace the hinge side of the frame. Aha! I thought - yeah, I know it's got 1/4" of steel plate screwed to both sides - but how heavy can a door be? I'll just unscrew the door, lift the door out of the way. Bish, bash, bosh.
Heavier than I can move that's for sure. I could just about 'walk' it about 12". The fucking thing must be filled with Lead to absorb all the radiation or something. Sheer fluke that it actually swings shut after I rehung it. I was dreading trying to shave a couple of mil off the top or bottom.
I am currently 'improving' the 'utility' room which involved plumbing in a new sink for the missus. Bought ten (count 'em ten) of those 90 degree angles - the pre-soldered jobbies. Measure, cut, measure, cut, measure, cut, solder, solder, solder.
The fucking pipes leak in about 50% of my beautiful new joints. Luckily I had the good sense to test it before I installed the granite top (supplied to spec by one of Stanislav's mates at a fraction the cost demanded by a native supplier) or the kids would be bleeding from the ears with the amount of swearing.
Anyway - that's my tomorrow all sorted out.
Improving things.
On the up-side the outdoor Christmas tree, which my missus decided we needed for the first time ever this year, did not blow away thanks to my excellent anchoring skills so it's not a total bust DIY-wise this week.
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