Cyclone Hamish is sitting off the coast, lurking with intent. So far it is taking after its name and wavering about like a Glaswegian on Sauchiehall (or something) street on a Saturday night.
Jokingly, last time they called a cyclone a stupid name (Larry) I said that nothing with such a dumb name could do much damage, at which point it set off for our house in a straight line unheard of before or since in cyclone mapping. In deference to this history I shall say that Hamish will be taking after all things Celtic and causing mayhem and madness (or falling down drunk in the middle of the coral sea after an all nighter.)
Hamish is only a three, and we've bought a generator, so I think all in all we'll be fine.
#1 wants to be sure we've got enough beer in, #2 wants to go to her boyfriends, #3 has practised the trumpet (oblivious as always) and #4 wants to know if the roof is going to blow off. Yes, yes, stop that and hopefully not.
Things I have Said To My Husband Today
3 years ago