Last night was stormy. The news is reporting 120km winds and beaches all but swept away by pounding tides along the coast. At work during the afternoon, our view of the harbour gradually darkened until you could barely see the Opera House, five minutes' walk away. The rain came down in drenching gusts, swelling the gutters till you couldn't cross the street.
Anya was a bit unsettled by this, as it rattled her windows and boomed in her chimney for much of the night. Jasper too was running around with his hair on end, quite uncertain what to do about everything. This morning, walking to the station, I saw a eucalyptus branch some 4 metres long lying in a churchyard. In my cursory look, I couldn't see any evidence nearby of the tree it had come from.
Living in Australia you're really aware of how mild most British weather is. I remember as a standout event of my childhood the day it rained so hard that the gutters overflowed the road. I think I still have a photo somewhere of child-me, standing in the water in wellies and a raincoat. That sort of event happens several times a year in Sydney. Likewise with storms: Britain still remembers the great storm of 1987; I think it has its own, quite comprehensive, Wikipedia page. And I'd guess it wasn't much more severe than last night's storm in Sydney, which we'll all have forgotten by the weekend.
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