Stormy nights, strange days

In the best traditions of Mr Bulwer-Lytton, it was a dark and stormy night.

I had been dozing in between listening to the rain lashing on the windows, when there was a sound like a cross between the end of the world and somebody falling downstairs very heavily. I couldn't quite summon up the energy to wake up properly and somehow assumed that it was Frank the Cat on the prowl in his (not very) sylph like manner.

When I went out of the front door at half past seven, I saw that the sound had actually been caused by the ridge tile blowing off the roof, bouncing several times on the way down and embedding itself in the grass. Oh joy - that means a round of ringing builders, getting quotes and claiming money back off the insurance.

The drive to Dudley was as much fun as a 100 mile drive in driving rain and high winds can be expected to be and work was similarly enjoyable culminating in a two hour meeting that went round in circles, agreed nothing and meant that I didn’t leave the office until nearly five to face the delights of a jammed up A42.

I’ve been having odd phone calls on my mobile. An elderly American woman keeps ringing me and asking for Sam (or more properly “Saaaaam? Is that you?”). She rang during the meeting and the call went onto my answering machine. The message was long and rambling – she had been expecting somebody called Mike to do her shopping for her but she hadn’t heard from him since before Christmas despite giving him a large tip. She was now calling Saaaaaam to do her shopping, because she only had enough to keep body and soul together. She sounded quite lonely and confused, so when I eventually got home I rang her back to let her know it had been a wrong number.

I hope Sam gets her shopping in for her this time.