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It has been a windy start to 2012 and that had nothing whatsoever to do with menopause or festive over-indulgence. No indeed. Rather it was a case of strengthening south-westerlies celebrating the New Year by seeking to raise the roof. The force was enough to wake me and send me scuttling around the house to close banging doors at some unearthly hour of the morning.
Scarcely was I back in slumberland when a loud crash woke me yet again. After the initial shock of the second coming, I figured what ever had fallen was now on the floor somewhere about the house and there was nothing to be gained by getting out of bed to investigate before morning.
Curiously, dawn’s early light revealed the source of the crash – a pile of law books, property of a certain solicitor of my acquaintance somehow found their way from the centre of a good mahogany table to the middle of the floor in the hall. It’s the kind of event you wouldn’t want to dwell on too much on a night when you’re alone in the house.
Still, it seems I wasn’t the only one to experience unusual nocturnal events on said evening although in the other case the moving objects were silent balloons that navigated a complex course through someone’s house to settle in the early hours on the ceiling of the master en suite.
Clearly, if this continues, it augurs for winds of change in 2012.
