Thunderstruck

It's nice to know that even now there are still new experiences to enjoy.  Mind you, eating al fresco in a thunderstorm was never likely to feature on my bucket list.  For a start, I've never been exactly relaxed in thunderstorms, having had a life-long phobia of sudden loud noises.  Much as I love firework displays, it's difficult to relax with your fingers crammed in your ears, cringing at every bang.  People blowing up and bursting empty crisp bags or playing with balloons, have been known to reduce me to a gibbering jelly.  And don't even get me started about small dogs outside supermarkets!

However, thanks to a lovely hypnotherapist lady I met through Reiki, the dog phobia was dealt with and as a result I'm a lot more relaxed these days, although I still try to keep indoors on Bonfire Night.

Anyway, back to the thunderstorm.  I blame Steve really.  It was only a couple of weeks back we decided to buy a new barbecue.  Off we trotted to Tesco's Home and took advantage of their seasonal offer.  It was a lovely day and we stopped at a local hostelry for lunch in their garden.  It's a cosy little walled enclosure, with cascades of petunias from hanging baskets. The plan was to christen the barbecue that evening, but alas, it started to rain on the homeward journey and kept it up on and off for days.  The barbecue stayed in its box and it's been there ever since. 

So today, another brilliant, roasting morning, both of us at home, so we went into Staines for a mooch round the market followed by lunch at the same pub as before.  On the way, Steve suggested a barbecue over the weekend.  We ordered our food, settled down in the garden and tried to ignore the gathering clouds.  No umbrellas, no coats and the car on the far side of town. Not exactly well thought out.

As the rain started, Steve drew comparisons with storms he'd seen in Cameroon - rain like waterfalls, carrying on for up to 14 hours.  "Nothing like we see in the UK," he said. I don't know if he was trying to provoke a response but I'm sure the Gods have a sense of humour.  Luckily most of the tables are under a vast umbrella, albeit not the one we'd chosen.  By the time the food arrived, we'd moved under cover and just in time.

Initial spots of rain developed into full son et lumière - most impressive, if a little noisy.  The storm gathered pace, the wind picked up and the rain hammered down.  An elderly gent came out to the garden as the rain started.  "I blame you," he said to me.  "You're a witch!" Don't get me wrong: it was a logical conclusion I suppose - I'm a member of a pagan group which meets there, and he's a regular, although I can't remember seeing him before   I explained I had no control over the weather (although a friend of mine once managed to hold back the rain long enough to complete a hand-fasting - oh to have his command over the elements!) and thought no more about it.  It was only when the old gent started to make jokes about sacrificing chickens, to which I replied I believed in preserving life, not taking it, that we decided weather and company were getting tiresome and we retreated indoors until the storm passed.

So no barbecue this weekend - and my apologies anyone else who had one planned.