Summer Gales

It’s early August. It’s Friday. It’s nearly midnight. I’m just in bed. I put the Spring/Autumn duvet back on before I got into bed. The wind is howling round my very thick-walled old house as if it were the middle of winter. I can hear things being blown around outside. Things that don’t need tying down in the summer. I hate to think what sort of devastation is being wreaked on my garden. This is the Outer Hebrides. We are used to wind. But not like this in August. It makes me apprehensive for the winter. I don’t like hurricanes any more.