By all accounts, while I was doing the day job and swanning around at a conference in London yesterday, it was Armageddon back home.
“Pah!” I thought… surely the work of an overactive pair of teenage imaginations…
A trip down the garden told me otherwise. Big holes had been shot in the top of the chicken coop roof – happily the girls didn’t look worse for wear, and they’d still managed to squeeze out a couple of eggs between them. I think having Aggie for a flat-mate for so long taught them to be hard as nails…
My cabbages could now double as colanders, and the onions are yet again under water. We have holes in our shed roof, but that’s piffling compared to the holes in next door’s conservatory roof. The greenhouse got away unscathed, which I’m delighted about – I’ve heard stories where greenhouses have been smashed to pieces, so all in all, we seem to have weathered the mother of all storms fairly well.
The mother of all storms…
You wouldn’t fancy being donked on the head by one of these!…
