Apparently, we are expecting a storm to rival The Great Storm of October 1987. It's already fairly blustery outside so we've been battening down the hatches, removing lighter objects from the garden, and loading the caravan with as much heavy stuff as we can. As I write, PP is tacking a tarpaulin over the log store.
It's always tempting to venture down to the seafront when it's windy, as the high seas are incredibly dramatic. Thankfully common sense usually prevails. It's not unknown for people to be swept off the promenade or the beach by huge waves so we'll give that a miss. In any case, we live at the top of a hill, which is quite exposed, so there will probably be quite enough drama going on just outside our windows without risking life and limb on the seafront.
Small Dog HATES windy weather. Her default position is to lie down completely flat on the ground and refuse to budge until she's picked up and carried. So I expect she will view the storm from the comfort of her basket, especially as she's the proud owner of a new blanky, so soft it barely registers to the touch.