The T-Bomb. Wish me luck

So, here I am (not there, down a bit, South, yes that’s it, sarf USA) all merrily enjoying my blissful time on the American continent. It’s a bit warm (it’s what I would call ‘what’s that yellow thing in the sky, oh sunshine how I’ve missed you’ weather and what my aunt would call ‘find that bloody fan & hit oscillate’ weather), I aint seen an April shower in, well April, and I am happily enjoying myself, safe in the smugness that London is probably cold and grey…. as usual.

Safe in smugness until today that is, but if you’ll allow me to dear reader, let us backtrack somewhat.

Being a Brit, I like to think I’m prepared for all weathers. By which I mean I usually have both sun lotion AND umbrella in my handbag permanently throughout the summer (after all, you never know what you’re going to get.) And also being British, I have an unhealthy obsession with the state of play up there above me head. However, despite this preoccupation with (lets face it Britain) mainly precipitation, I think it’s fair to say we Brits don’t know how good we’ve got it. I know, I know, its habitually dank and grey, and summer is restricted to a weekend in May (always around exam time as I remember from my long distant yoof) and 5 days in early September which we call an Indian summer (pah!), but the realization of how good we have it came to the fore today when chatting to Lell.

A British tornado

Lell is a chum of my aunt, with whom I am staying with in SC. She’s lovely (Lell that is, my aunt aint too bad either) and makes some damn fine pecan pie, a pre-requisite for Southern US living I’m sure. So here Lell was, beaming in all her loveliness over skype to said aunt earlier today, and then she dropped the T-Bomb. It’s not a word we hear very often in the UK, and if it is, it’s usually somewhere near Milton Keynes so it doesn’t really matter that much, but it turns out Tornadoes are a pretty big deal over here. And understandably so, I do not wish to make light of them. But coming from somewhere that always moans about the weather, but rarely actually has any of note (Somerset flooding being the exception that proves the rule, though that actually looked pretty fun, as Ratty once said “there is nothing - absolutely nothing - half so much worth doing as simply messing about in boats”), a tornado is an unknown but terrifying quantity. So when Lell mentioned some might be on their way, more than a little fear was struck into me. I might go so far as to say that my face donned an expression not too dissimilar to that of a redneck who has just found out Piers Morgan has had his CNN run extended... Needless to say, not pretty.

An American tornado

I immediately started thinking of emergency exits (before realizing that’s probably the last thing you want to be doing with ole Mr Twister swooping about ominously above), packing my ‘essential items’ (passport & clean knickers since you’re asking) in a handy grab bag and hunkering down. An overreaction one might think, but these things are scary, even more so when one is not used to them, and I, British gal about town, am certainly not!

So where does that leave me now? Well dear readers, please do forgive the odd typo in this posting, for I am currently typing in a feverish frenzy, huddled in a cupboard, nestled cozily between a mega pack of loo roll and a gallon pack of water, resplendent (ahem) by the unforgiving glare of a mac book pro. The trusty umbrella is by my side (I figured I wouldn’t need the sun cream), I have a bag on my head (not sure why, it just seemed appropriate) with my red shoes by my side (just in case I do end up in the Emerald City). So wish me luck, hopefully I won’t need it. But on the very long shot I do actually end up in the land of the Tin Man et al., take good care of Toto, between my brolly and the loo roll, there simply wasn’t enough room for him in the cupboard.

Sorry Toto.