Last night, the dogs did something odd. Normally when they sleep with me they have to be in contact with me somehow. Generally Emma is in the crook of my knee while Freya is lying against my chest. Last night, however, they were both on Mirinda’s side of the bed, a goodly distance from me.
This could have lasted all night (though maybe not beyond Emma’s midnight snacking) had it not been for the front edge of Storm Dennis. Yes, hot on the heels of Ciara: Dennis.
Dennis was here today. He was a bit slow in reaching us but, by about 2pm, his full wrath was being felt by our back garden. I assume he was being felt everywhere else as well but I did not dare venture forth.
In fact, I’d already ventured forth (third, perhaps) first thing in the morning to go shopping. Given I keep up with all storm related news, I was aware of the impending conditions so decided to shop for both days.
The park was not looking best prepared for any further onslaught.
The only reason I can think that this corner is so susceptible to muddishness is that dogs regularly take shortcuts across it. This is only since the tree has been down. Prior to the fallen tree (courtesy of Storm Brendan), the dogs could shortcut behind it and the space was a lot wider. Now it’s full of tree detritus.
I’m sure it’ll be devoid of any grass by tomorrow given the wind and lashing rain that was Dennis. Mind you, I don’t think he was quite as bad as Ciara.
I managed to avoid anything like his full force or anything like any force at all. It was looking a bit threatening as I walked home but the weather didn’t deteriorate until after lunch when we could happily watch it from inside. Well, we were happy. I can’t say the same for Emma.
Actually, I didn’t completely escape the Dennis Wrath. In the middle of the night, the bedroom window wide open, a big wind blew in and knocked the bell off the Liberty table. The resultant crash and clang woke all three of us with a start.
I managed to get up and close the window and returned to bed. Almost instantly I was accosted by two fearful, shaking dogs. Freya was doing an excellent impression of a pillow while Emma was pressing up against my chest.
It would have made a funny photograph. Given I didn’t take many today, it would have been handy as well.
In lieu of any other photographs, I took the photo below on my way to Starbucks this morning. It’s a car park and delivery lane (it used to be for Argos deliveries before they moved) and is very rarely empty. I thought I’d take advantage of the lack of vehicles.
The wise motorist would not venture forth in the expectation of Dennis. Fortunately though, Dennis waited for Mirinda to drive home from Bath. In fact, she said, it was an excellent drive with no traffic and the weather was okay.
And so Dennis, slowly and inexorably, increased in ferocity with wind and rain lashing and bashing everything. Freya managed to run out in between showers and Emma just looked sad. I hear tomorrow is going to be worse.
I read on Twitter that someone reckons it’s the fault of the Americans and their habit of naming storms. They claim that we didn’t have as many storms before we started giving them names. Personally, I don’t remember us having a Storm Season at all.
In 1987, the storm that reduced Sevenoaks to One, was simply called the Great Storm. I find that a lot more delightfully British than Dennis.