blamebrampton | A deeply stupid weekend.

Saturday was hot. If you speak new money, it was 37 degrees, if you speak old, 98.6. I'd bunkered down the house to keep it cool, kept the cats in and battened down everything in the garden, as high winds were forecast.

But we needed food, so I checked the weather radar and thought I had just enough time to get to the shops and back before any storms developed. I probably would have if I hadn't stopped to chat to a friend. As it was, I came out of the deli into wind that must have been gusting at aroud 100km, because it was very hard to stay upright and the horizontal rain was a bit ouchie. Sensibly, I took shelter in the lee of the tattooist's and waited for the worst to go past.

I made it to the supermarket during a brief lull, cognisant that lightning was getting closer and that it's more sturdily built than the tattooist's. There I busied myself buying quorn and asparagus and a Jamie Oliver spiced pudding, because I have become a cliche since moving to the suburbs. (I jest not, Mr Brammers wants to buy a Volvo.)

I warned a few people not to leave as I was coming in, the remainder were paying enough attention not to even try. It howled. Lightning struck nearby and thunder shook the whole building, the gutters overflowed. And then it was gone.

I headed home quickly, aware that Sydney storms can be unpredictable, but it was sunny and barely spotting rain by the time I had walked the four minute trip.

And there were trees and powerlines down all up the street.

So I dropped off the groceries, grabbed my gloves and phone, and headed out. Neighbour One was waiting to get through to the State Emergency Services on his phone, I called the police on the local area command line to let them know they needed to block off the street to trucks: the trees were only across the pavements and gardens, Neighbours Two and Three had removed the one bough that had made it onto the road, but the lines had been lifted off the power poles on one side, and while cars and humans had clearance under them (happily, I didn't need to convince anyone that it would be a bad idea to actively walk under them, most Marrackvillains are sensible!), trucks did not.

The police arrived quickly and were fab, so the neighbourhood set then trotted off to clear what we could of a big tree down in a yard a few doors up. It was a eucalypt – they ALWAYS come down in winds, so never camp under one or plant one over 3 metres next to your house. My next-door neighbour, who wants us to cut down the lone pine in our garden, told everyone that he thought the pine was going to fall and that he had never seen a gum tree come down before. Being evil, I took the opportunity to let him know that the exact opposite set of beliefs were accurate, but I was nice about it and said I only knew because I had done a course. People always cope with you knowing something they don't if you've done a course.

I started to clear out the smaller bits of tree, so there would be less for the SES to have to do. Mr next-door told me to leave it to the men, because I would hurt myself. I told him I'd done a course on risk assessment and that if he would turn the branch he was hauling around, it would come more easily and not knock everything down as he took it up the drive. He listened to me only after he'd taken out a pot and a bench.

After twenty minutes, we were down to things that should not be touched, and Mr Next Door had finally been convinced that I made sense, so translated the need to wait for the SES to the Greek householders. I showed how only the fence would be damaged if the winds shifted the fallen tree more, and they were relieved. Mr Next Door followed me home, where Mr Brammers was finally ambling out (he assumes I will call him if he's needed.)

'Your wife takes command,' said Mr Next Door.

'Oh, she knows all about trees and emergencies,' said Mr B. 'She's from the country, and used to work for the Parks Service, where they make you take lots of courses.'

Mr Next Door seemed satisfied by this, and I managed not to roll my eyes.

Pride has its own set of aphorisms.

Yesterday, walking down Addison Road towards the market, this happened:

Broken scaphoid. Apparently I am fab in an actual emergency, incapable of walking down a slightly crap piece of pavement.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

ecosopher.livejournal.com

Don't knock Volvos. Volvos are awesome. Plus they, too, hold up well in storms. (I may or may not own a Volvo).

This

'Oh, she knows all about trees and emergencies,' said Mr B. 'She's from the country, and used to work for the Parks Service, where they make you take lots of courses.'

made me laugh out loud because it so shows how well you guys work together ♥

And WHAT THE HELL YOUR WRIST?! Ouch :( From a fellow wrist-breaker, big sympathies.

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A deeply stupid weekend.

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