It's eerily still and quiet this morning, after yet another dark and stormy night. There are some advantages to being perched near the top of a hill, but wind resistance isn't one of them.
I lay awake after midnight, listening to the wind howling and feeling the shock waves of huge gusts of wind attacking the house from all sides. The noise was unearthly, alternately wailing like a banshee and roaring like a big, roary thing. The rain, hitting the windows, sounded as though someone was throwing bucketfuls of pebbles against the glass.
I must eventually have drifted off to sleep because when I awoke again at 4 it was relatively quiet and the house had stopped shaking.
Brits have a reputation for being obsessed with the weather. We talk about it all the time and no wonder. We get a lot of it. Sometimes all four seasons in one day.
It's either too hot, or too cold. Too much rain or not enough. The wrong kind of snow.....
But this winter.