Somewhere, out there (isn't that the beginning of a song?) there's a Big Bad Wolf, and he's after his little piggies. And one of those little piggies is Winnie the Pooh.
OK, so Pooh Bear is a... well... a bear. But he had a Blustery Day, and the BBW, who's only like BBM in that if you press the right buttons you might get a message - just one you won't want to hear as it involves gnashing teeth and lunch - is huffing and puffing and blowing the world away.
It kept me up all night. The wind, that is. I live on a road with a river across from the house, and an expanse of reclaimed marsh. Apparently they've tried to build houses there, but the buildings had a habit of sinking, so they stopped. Which is nice. It means we have an uninterrupted view. It means we feel private.
It means the wind can get a right run up before it leaps up and throws itself at our house.
The weather, this March, doesn't seem to know what to do with itself. Maybe it had a lot to drink in February and March is Hangover Month. Sunday, for me, is occasionally hangover Day, but by lunch time I'm feeling much better. As such, February must have been a doozy of a bender to send the weather so off kilter. We had a couple of days of sun. We've had it so cold the heating has had to go on - and that's on a day when it's been sunny. We've had fog and rain. Is it keeping us guessing? Juggling isothermic balls and seeing which one drops?
Either way, we don't seem to predict what the day will bring, and the weather apps on our phones are as ineffective.
The other day, it caught my car doors enough to trap my wife against a wall and to make me need two hands to pull the door shut.
Yesterday, there was a strong breeze. Last night, that strong breeze had eaten it's spinach and was trying to yank my front gate off its hinges, slamming it repeatedly, perhaps trying to coax me out so it could take me too. Through the night, a party was going on. The wind had invited its friends around and was dancing and singing at the top of its voice. If it had been a neighbour, I could have nipped around and asked them to just tone it down a touch.
I didn't think the wind would be bothered enough to listen.
On the way to work, I think the it was peeved at me for not bowing down to its power. It was pushing against my car as I drove to work. Bins were blown over. People were leaning into it, with hair akimbo and coats flying about trying to escape.
It's blowing, now, against the building. Taunting us. Like teenagers kicking a ball against your wall, waiting for you to dare tell them to stop so they can hurl abuse and run off laughing.
Maybe the wind, as it is, actually is the teenager of the family. Stroppy, opinionated and pushing its boundaries. Then it grows up.
Then it becomes the tornado and the hurricane.
Then I’ll lose my gate.
Then my car won’t just be pushed, it’ll be thrown.
Maybe then, I’ll get to see Oz for myself, hot air balloon swapped for diesel powered Renault Megane.
I bet a certain hunny loving little bear didn’t have those worries, though his always blue donkey friend might have.