The name of the wind

Last week I went (rather weakly, because I had a feverish cold) to my exercise class, and some way through the class, which is held in a studio with a river view, the door suddenly blew open, nearly crashing into the woman next to me. Luckily she moved quickly out of the way, and we closed it again.  Our instructor Holly, having moved herself into the place in front of the door to hold it shut, continued to lead us in our exertions. Then she said: "I thought we'd seen the last of Gareth".
I looked around the room to try to figure out who Gareth might be. Why did she want to not see Gareth again? It wasn't like Holly to give voice to strong negative opinions.
And then I remembered that now the winds have names! And this one is called Gareth!
Later still I found myself singing: "They call the wind Mariah" a song from Paint Your Wagon, that goes:

Away out here they've got a name /For rain and wind and fire /The rain is Tess, The fire's Joe

And they call the wind Mariah

A lot of tosh, of course, but if you call the wind Mariah, habitually, then that is the name of the wind, but if you suddenly decide that the wind is called Gareth this week, and Hannah next week, nobody knows what you're talking about. The wind is still blowing hard enough to make it quite unpleasant outside, (not much allotment digging for me) and it might be Gareth out there and it might be Hannah, and is it worth keeping up with the changing name of the March winds?

Valentine's ball

This was by way of a family get-together, all paid for by my brother-in-law, the birthday boy: so very kind of him. The idea was that we would meet at a golf hotel near Liphook and have the special dinner and hear the entertainment, stay overnight and make use of the spa facilities, pool and gym the next day; and those who play golf could play golf.

Unfortunately, it did not work too well. The golf course was waterlogged due to the heavy rain, so golf was off. Then, after the final course and the coffee and the special birthday cake, all the lights went out out. There was a complete power failure. We all waited for something to happen. The staff were quick to bring everyone candles. We were all very merry after having drunk champagne and wine. It became colder. We departed to our distant bedroom and were met in the bedroom block by hotel staff waiting with tea lights in holders to show us the way. Obviously the lifts didn't work. We were allowed to keep the tea lights in our room as we had no idea where anything was without them.

all night the storm raged and the wind howled. I heard it all because I couldn't sleep in the strange, hard bed. 

In the morning the power was not back: we found that the loo had run out of flush, and there was no hot water. Our breakfast was fruit juice and cereal and fruit salad of different kinds. No toast, no bacon. Then the manager arrived with flasks of tea and coffee which he had prepared at his home, which was not far away but had power. Having drunk too much the night before, I was so needy for coffee!

We never heard what had happen but it seemed likely that a tree had fallen on a power line, or that a power line had broken for some other reason. We could not use the pool or any other facilities.

On the way home husband and I stopped at Hindhead and went for a walk at the Devil's Punch Bowl. At that time it was dry and bright. This is a beauty spot and there is some fine ancient woodland of oak and beech.. It used to be environmentally spoilt by the A3 cutting close to it, but now a smart dual-carriageway tunnel has been built for the road and the old road is being melded into the landscape. It's a lovely place and we had a good walk, though a bit steep out of the woods at the end. We went to the cafe and, unlike other National Trust cafes, it does good ordinary bacon butties, not too expensive, which I highly recommend.

The river has not gone down yet. Many trees have been felled by the wind and sadly, many are Scots Pine. I do love Scots Pines.