blamebrampton (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
blamebrampton) wrote2014-11-03 10:01 pm
blamebrampton) wrote2014-11-03 10:01 pm
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.
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.
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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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I ran out in the safety armour of someone too little to be worth any points if you are an aggressive bastard, with the speed and musculature of someone who biked 300km a week in those days. It was a girl off her face on a bad combo of drugs and her male friend who was trying to get her home safely. If I alarmed him, Mr B bowling out 10 seconds behind made him raise his hands in the air. It was quickly established that all was well and we helped them home. When we got home, I complained he'd forgotten the weapon. He declared we belonged together.
Dude, I KNOW! I'm just hoping I can get a waterproof cast at clinic next week. This half cast behemoth is going to be a dog if it's still there by December! Thanks, dear!
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Also, you are made of 100% actual awesome.
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If it's a walk to the market: I suck!
Thanks, dear! It's not bad, as long as I get out of the slab and into a waterproof cast at review next week!
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*hugs*
Mail to mod account if you need anything. hderised at gmail. <3
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And you know, I'm okay with the Jamie Olived spiced pudding but don't buy a Volvo. *runs from ecosopher* ;)
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What's wrong with Volvos? I think he just wants a really safe car for some reason ...
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The questions of Volvos is one of design. It's like with Macs or PCs. :)
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oh, I wish we had some cold, only about five proper winter days ths year :-(
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Hope you are at least not left handed.
Your husband sounds really nice. :D (The guy next door sounds like a douchebag - stupid old macho, huh?)
Get well soon!
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Mr B is lovely, next door is a bit of a wally, but to be fair to him, he is a middle-aged Greek-Australian man, so it would be a lot of cultural sterotyping to listen to the little British woman first go, And he did come round once he twigged I knew my stuff!
you get well, too. How's the nosee?
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Glad you're right handed. Thank heavens for small mercies. ;D
*chuckles* Oh, I can imagine that kind of chap. He must be a kind soul, just misled by "traditional" education. Poor sod, it's not his fault.
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(Anonymous) 2014-11-04 02:58 am (UTC)(link)Wishing you a rapid recovery. Broken limbs are very annoying. Though I trust you have a better story than 'I tripped outside the pub and fell into the gutter' (I wasn't even drinking...).
love
Catherine
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Alas, it's a very similar story ...
XX
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Feel better soon and if I were in an emergency situation - I'd like you around to take command! ♥
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It's a half-cast under the bandage. Hand clinic next week, fingers crossed I get a fibreglass cast so it can get wet!
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Bikes and walking all require appropriate risk assessments before undertaking related activities...you know it is true...you've done a course! Yes, that cracked me up...
Anyway, hope the scaphoid heals quickly. See you at the cocktail party?
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Prob not, alas, nothing fits over the cast.
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(Seriously, if a tree had fallen on me, I would feel it was fair and reasonable!)
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