Yesterday afternoon, my local medical centre sent me a text warning me that going outside the next day might prove to be fatal. A couple of hours later, my phone started going nuts, scaring the heck out of my dog and, frankly, me, as an alert prepared the country for Storm Eowyn. This morning, as my lights flickered, some debris slammed into the wall right next to my window. And then I got a phone call from my mum telling me her car had been murdered by a tree.
This is not normal for Scotland. Foul weather is very much par for the course—grey skies and perpetual rain, most of the year round—but potentially fatal winds? Not so much. So this has all been pretty unpleasant. I made the mistake of helping people chase bins earlier, to stop them smashing into cars, but that proved to be a terrible idea. I have since remained inside, much to the dismay of my dog, who'd very much like to go for a run.
