And now we've just had our first power outage of the year.
It was windy last night.
By Victorian standards, that is.
Compared to what we were used to back in Guernsey, this would barely have merited a casual "wind's getting up a bit, eh?"
Note "getting", not "got", because the slight freshening we felt last night would have been viewed, with cocked eyebrow, as little more than a transitory state towards something worthy of comment.
And it was nothing compared to the winter Atlantic storms, the difficult-to-walk-into, the throw-rocks-the-size-of-curling-stones-from-the-beach-into-your-front-yard kinds of storms we used to enjoy.
But, for Victoria, it was windy.
The wind never used to bother me. That was when I lived in a solid stone house, with no trees within house-crushing distance. Now, overshadowed by hundred-foot firs and cedars I get a bit edgy when it starts to blow. And last night, as if to rub it in, the wind decided to whistle.
First time, I woke, startled, thinking that one of the kids was screaming. Nope. Just the wind, maybe catching the cap on the chimney. Doze off. There's that scream again! A while later I realise that we've lost power. The alarm clock is dark. Heck! And it isn't light enough in the mornings yet to wake us up in time. More reasons for restless sleep.
Hours later, very groggy, we all stumble around with flashlights getting ready for work and school, and not even my customary mug of tea to pick me up.
To find that the wind has been playing with our recycling. The boxes of tins & bottles, and bags of paper and card, that we'd put out the night before were, shall we say, redistributed. All down in front of our hedge and in the ditch across the road.
All this, before a full day's work.
*Yawn* Time for bed, said Zebedee.