It’s biblical. We started the week with an earthquake and finished with a hurricane.
My work colleagues now know that I swear quite a bit. I think hanging on to my shaking desk and shouting “What the FUCK?” rather gave the game away. Apparently, post-earthquake, you’re supposed to stay in the building and evacuate only when given the all-clear, rather than what we (and the entire population of DC) did, which was to leg it outside immediately and spark up a fag.
Luckily, the mocking derision heaped on us by the entire population of the West Coast became more muted as Hurricane Irene approached and the broadcast media whipped themselves up into the kind of mass hysteria not seen since those girls in Salem all got their period at the same time.
Irene. What kind of name is that for an all-powerful curse from the vicious mouth of Mother Nature? It should have been called Damian Hellmouth. Or Ha-You’re-All-Going-To-Shit-Yourselves-Now.
Yesterday I popped down to Whole Foods to stock up with emergency provisions – you know, all the B’s – batteries, booze and bananas. The queues were twenty-deep. And people were buying gallons of water. One bloke had five ten-gallon bottles of the stuff. So I grabbed a wee bottle of Evian. Any bets it’s still in my fridge this time next year.
I spent the evening watching CNN, praying that Anderson Cooper would pop up from some beach in a wetsuit. Scanning the Washington Post website for updates, I saw a helpful advert which said that semen glows in the dark. So if the power failed, I was going to have to find a bloke with really big balls.
The worst of the storm hit in the early hours, and I had to barricade the balcony doors with chairs to stop them blowing in. My considerate neighbour downstairs emailed me at midnight to say his kitchen ceiling was leaking, and could I please make sure that there wasn’t a build up of water on my balcony.
After five hours of hiding under the duvet, I got up this morning to find the streets strewn with leaves and branches but everything else pretty much the same. The news channels are vying with each other to see how many reporters they can drown live on air, the dog walkers are out in force, and I’m enjoying my Sunday morning coffee. Life goes on.