Doesn’t it just? The weather seems to be getting itself into ‘a bit of a tizz’ as my old granny used to say. The wind is picking up no end, the washing I hung out yesterday and forget to get in last night is halfway to Swindon now and I’m sure I just saw Mrs Snooks from number 32 sail past the window hanging on grimly to the end of her umbrella.
Even without these visual delights, even if I decided to close the curtains and block out the world (and believe me there’s times that seems advisable) I’d still be very aware of the gale. Firstly the breeze whistles down the chimney like the entire wind section of the London Philharmonic tuning up before a big ‘un, and secondly big, brave Mad Dog has been reduced to a quivering wreck and is trying to get inside my clothes with me.
She was a rescue dog who was found wandering on a mountain in Wales, having plainly been practising ‘independent living’ for some time, and I can only assume that when the wind blows up her bum it reminds her of the Bad Old Days. Daft Dog, on the other hand, loves the wind and is currently sitting on my bedroom windowsill with his head shoved out the partially opened window. He also does this in the car, making his ears stream back and reminding me strongly of Shepard’s illustration of Piglet on a windy day!