The 106 m.p.h. wind that ripped through The Needles overnight howled around our house and garden.
Numerous plant pots were blown down;
tables and the new pig hit the deck;
owls were knocked off their perches;
broken branches and scattered trugs tossed around;
an arch bent and a rose dislodged. I had the sun in my eyes when the rose accosted me and pierced both my head and my jacket.
Late this afternoon we drove to Milford on Sea watching wild waves whipping up spray, lashing wooden breakwaters and wetting glistening rocks. Gulls swooped overhead; numerous walkers braced the bitterly cold wind. One group descended the slippery shingle, then attempted to avoid the rippling waves licking their feet. One young lady had forgotten to cover her legs.
It was hardly surprising that no-one sat at the picnic tables of the Needles Eye Cafe standing in reflecting pools.
My fingers tingled enough to send me back into the car while I waited for the sunset.
This evening we dined on Jackie’s post-Christmas soup with crusty bread followed by gooseberry and apple crumble with which the Culinary Queen drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the Montaria.