France got hit by some big storms yesterday (several children were seriously injured after being hit by lightning strikes in Paris). Our storm arrived just before midnight with lots of flashes and bangs and torrential rain. Electric storms always make me nervous. My gran used to hide away anything metal inside the house during a storm (including cutlery which made eating dinner a bit tricky) so I think I inherited my fear from her.
One of the worst storms I ever experienced was in Australia a couple of years ago. We were staying in the small seaside town of Kiama, just south of Sydney. Paul and I had walked across the headland to a nearby rock pool adjoining the ocean and had spent a jolly hour or two splashing around. We hadn’t noticed the dark clouds rolling in. We thought we could make it back home but as we got to the top of the cliff all hell let loose. Thunder, lightning, torrential rain, hailstones, massive gusts of wind – it was terrifying. We looked around for shelter and spotted the quaint, white painted church perched at the top of the headland.
|Kiama church on a sunny day|
We ran there for sanctuary. No such luck, the doors were locked. So we cowered in the meagre porch (that offered no protection whatsoever) in our swimsuits and towels, drenched and freezing cold with bolts of lightning all around us, until the storm passed. We eventually crept home drenched and bedraggled. Sarah, my daughter, had just got home from work. “Had a nice day Mum and Dad?”
It is pouring with rain today so I shall have to console myself with food and wine. I have made a quiche for lunch and braved the weather to pick enough strawberries for dessert. Salut!