Beaufort Scale - 'Hurricane'.
On a boat you take the angle between yourself and three different objects to find where they intersect and so where you are. Conversely a combination of three elements last Thursday at 1224 erradicated, in one sense, where we were. There was no distinction between lane and sea, nor glass and water (except without the glass I'd have been wet).
Two things caught my imagination:
1. While the wind was 70mph with us, a mile or so inland at Cockerham village apparently it was 56mph. That's a drop of 14mph over a few fields, a handful of trees and even fewer buildings: 20% taken by these small barriers. Which seems like a lot to me.
2. I wrote two poems over two days. Unprecedented since my month at Hawthornden.This may have had something to do with the loss of defined location.
I don't know if there's a connection between the two. If there is, it's been swept away, shredded and lost to the saltmarsh, tide, sodden fields or someone's back garden.
I might find it amongst what I'm slowly clearing up from the storm: burst balloons, beer cans, pop bottles, foam packaging, crisp packets, dummies, plant pots, bottle tops, car-parts, shrink-wrap, buckets and more drink bottles. To be fair we've also scored some very burnable pieces of wood: future merriment to be had from between the degrading party props. These are, obviously a lot heavier and hard to haul free than the far more plentiful past-it plastics. The future often is.