Getting a blow job from Barney

I have a big problem with wind.

Wind of the outside variety that is, and not the result of a feed of onions and beans.  I have no problems with the latter.

Of all the various things that the weather throws at me, I hate wind the most.  I can tolerate rain and ignore the cold.  I can take frost or leave it and snow is always welcome provided I don't have to go out in it and so long as it fucks off quickly when I get tired of it.

Now they have this tacky thing of giving wind a name.

I haven't quite worked out the logic of naming storms.  Is it supposed to make them more friendly?  When a chimney stack comes crashing through my roof into the sitting room, am I supposed to think that sure, it's only Abigail up to her tricks and not a storm force gust?  Am I supposed to feel better about that?

I have a nasty suspicion that it's all part of this Interwebby thing where we are all supposed to be Twittering and Farcebooking and sharing every minute boring trite detail of our lives with the whole wide world.  Giving a storm a name is like giving it a "hashtag" [another word I hate] so we can all Tweet about it like it's some kind of fucking friend.

Actually, the storm we had yesterday was a very strange one.  They called it Barney; I called it a fucking annoying wind.  I was sitting here minding my own business dreaming and looking out the window.  It was nice and sunny and an absolute flat calm.  The leaves that still remain on the trees were just hanging there without a single stir.  Then there was a sudden breeze out of nowhere and within ten minutes the trees were bending over at forty five degrees and I was back to worrying that one of my magnificent birches would coming crashing down on a passing car.

During the evening the roof was giving distinct impressions that it was about to lift off and the storm was still roaring through the trees outside and suddenly, without warning, it stopped.  No more wind.  It was the most dramatic on/off storm I have ever witnessed.  One minute it's there; the next it isn't.

I see from their naming list that we only have nineteen storms left to go this winter.  They list 'em alphabetically and they stop at Wendy.  For some reason they skipped over Q and U which is a bit of an insult to all the Queenies and Unas ot there?

I suppose I had better go out and count my birches before Clodagh dumps on me.

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Comments

Getting a blow job from Barney — 3 Comments

  1. Just to let you know, we across the pond have been dealing with named storms for quite awhile now so it's become much more than a matter of "naming for identification purposes".  However, it doesn't matter whether a storm is assigned a number or name since it's still a regular bother when the lovely old maple that stands in our front yard comes crashing down on the house.

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