Stormy Times

I’m constantly surprised to see reporters taken out of nice warm tv studios and placed into areas of impending storms and reporting to camera whilst tethered to a falling tree.
The fact they’re sent into areas where everyone else is being evacuated seems bizarre.
Many they interview are loading their vehicles and taking their irreplaceable belongings, like photographs, jewellery and mementos whilst others deliberate which things would best fit into their cars, their pets or their children?
I started wondering what I would do and which possessions I would take.
If warned in advance, I’d sort through my wardrobe and take some clothes to the local charity shop, which they could either display or place at the bottom of their door to use like sandbags to stop them getting flooded too.
Realising that a hammer, nails and wooden panels offer no defence against a hurricane, I’d spent a day encasing my flat in a concrete block.
I’d take all drinks, tins of non-perishable food, a can opener and the terms of my tenancy agreement to belatedly study references for legitimate use of concrete.
I’d have my phone to use Google Maps in case the whole area is flooded and I can’t see any road signs or familiar landmarks as I paddle around in the canoe and life-jacket I bought from Aldi when I went in to buy milk last April.
I’d take my laptop because if I got canoe-wrecked, I could write a blog. I’ve no idea how Robinson Crusoe did that when he didn’t have a biro. I sometimes think he didn’t get shipwrecked at all but simply disappeared into his garden shed for years and made up the whole sob-story because he just wanted people to feel sorry for him? Charlatan.
When the storm passes and I’ve finally jack-hammered my way through the concrete and into my flat, I’d say hello to my fiancée, see how’s she’s been getting on and ask if she’s missed me and all the food?


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