Storm Ciara is doing her worst, flouncing around the place like a very angry goblin. Whose idea was it to name her Ciara?
is a bit rich coming from me, of course, given that I am well-known for naming everything, from motor cars to Christmas puddings. But at least I try to find appropriate names for each object - hence the extremely large turkey which we enjoyed on one of our
famous Ball and Sutton Christmases went by the name of Tonka, while our bright yellow Cortina all those years ago went by the name of The Flying Banana. Naming storms, however, is just going a bit too far in my humble opinion.
In the interests of background information (and because I do like the Daily Blog to come over all educational occasionally) I checked the meaning of Ciara. According to the Urban Dictionary (which
isn’t quite the New Oxford but sounds rather more upbeat) Ciaras are apparently compassionate and loving and make an awesome friend. What’s more they are kind and beautiful and “usually very quiet.” Well, not in my back garden she isn’t.
When she woke me up in the middle of the night I tried to peer out of the bedroom window to assess exactly what havoc she was wreaking but it was too dark to see anything.
I just had to go back to bed, pull the duvet over my head in a bid to block out the racket and hope for the best. Come the morning, as I pulled back the living room curtains, it seemed at first sight that all was well. The bird bath, sun dial, garden table
and chairs, vegetable trough and - most importantly - the beautiful mother and child statue which my Little Sister bought me for my 70th birthday - were all still standing in their rightful places. I breathed a sigh of relief.
Which was when Mr B drew my attention to a small blue plastic chair which was scuttling about the lawn like a mad thing. I knew at once what had happened - Ciara (she of the compassionate and loving
nature) had attacked one of the Flowerpot People. In fact (anyone of a sensitive nature might want to skip this bit) she had beheaded him.
Regular readers may
remember that the Flowerpot People were created as part of a project undertaken by The Rascally Trio some months ago. Shortly after their creation, I found the three of them (the Flowerpot People, not The Rascally Trio) a place of their own in the back garden
where I hoped they would be able to live in peace, sheltered in part by the garage wall from the worst of the elements. Each Flowerpot Person is seated on a plastic chair, one green, one blue and one yellow, with their little flower pot legs dangling from
the seat of each chair.
The Rascally Trio seem to have lost interest in the Flowerpot People and have to be encouraged to check up on their well-being whenever
they come to visit. Fortunately I have not stopped loving them (The Flowerpot People, not the Rascally Trio in this case - though of course I do love them too) and tending them, making sure that their potted cyclamen hair is kept well watered in the dry times
and sticking back on any eyes, noses or buttons which slip off during the wet times. I generally find time to wish them the “top o’ the morning” when I venture out into the back garden. Why, I even hung a Christmas wreath above their little
flower pot heads to ensure that they didn’t miss out on all the jollity of the festive season.
The sight of the small blue chair upturned and
bowling about the garden is therefore extremely worrying. I pull on my backdoor shoes and venture out to face the storm alone and unprotected. Mr B wants to know “where the hell are you going?” but, you know, I am on an Errand of Mercy and will
not be deterred. It probably would have been a good idea, perhaps, to put my mackintosh on but I was too worried about the fate of the Flowerpot People to care about getting wet. (I would later concede that this was a serious mistake on my part but then we
live and learn, don’t we?) I tell Mr B, in my best Captain Oates fashion, that I might be some time...
Oh, what a sorry sight! While two of the Flowerpot
People have withstood the worst of Storm Ciara, their friend and playmate has been completely dismembered. His body has been swept across the garden and is now lodged underneath the lilac tree, his little legs and arms trailing behind. His head, minus one
eye and a nose, is upside down on the patio, the cyclamen plant which forms his hair has been uprooted and is looking like my hair first thing in the morning. Poor, poor Flowerpot Person!
I have put him back together again, though I haven’t yet replaced his eye and nose as I think it might be best to save glueing them back in until it’s stopped raining. He looks at me, out of his one eye, and I
can’t tell whether he is grateful or not for my rescue efforts.
Before you say anything, I am well aware that far worse things must have happened at sea
- but this feels personal, if you know what I mean.
Storm Ciara - you have such a lot to answer for!