Mighty winds shake the Village.

Beating, battering. Remorseless and with no respect for man, property nor precedent. This wind sneers at the feeble word ‘gale’. It moons at the Beaufort scale.

Elemental forces crushing the puny constructs of man. Bricks and concrete – impostors they might be. Impotent to the intensity unleashed by an angry planet.

It is windy.

I venture outside to rescue our wheelie bin. It is looking disgruntled at being left to its own devices, and much of my rubbish is now in Belgium. I jam it up against a holly bush to try to give it some stability.

Above me, the TV aerial swings wildly on the end of a cable. It seems to have taken some chimney with it, which has ruined my chances of ever establishing what was supporting what. Next door, Short Tony’s merely droops. I risk the twenty-yard trek in order to tell him.

“Ah,” he replies, looking at it at some length.

Some policemen set up a roadblock outside Big A’s house. A tree has fallen!!! They work hard at their rural community-based task, knowing that sooner or later there will be a heart-warming ITV1 light drama series going out at 8.30pm on Sunday nights about them.

Short Tony spots a huge branch in the road. We run out to gather the free wood.

Later, Mrs Martin the IT Consultant telephones. Her garden fence has been blown into her neighbours backyard. I do not ask her if this is a euphemism.

“You decide,” orders the LTLP, handing me the Radio Times.

I shoot daggers at her. Big daggers, that have been dipped in dog shit. Her mother and father look at me, expectantly.

The past few days have not gone as expected. The plan: visit the in-laws so that I can have a well-earned rest from running around after a crawly Baby and broken-legged LTLP. The reality: visit the in-laws and provide extra care for an ill crawly Baby and winter-vomiting-disease-stricken broken-legged LTLP, who cannot rush to the toilet under her own steam due to aforementioned broken legs.

So I am tired.

And now she has thrown me this curved ball., viz choosing what we will watch on TV. There is no right answer. My in-laws like detective things starring John Thaw, whereas I would ideally like to watch some sort of documentary about lesbains in showers accompanied by the music of early Madness. I doubt that they would enjoy a documentary about lesbains in showers accompanied by the music of early Madness; they are more into sixties music, classical etc. The LTLP likes only things that feature jokes about poo and/or comic depictions of animals being squashed (eg Fish Called Wanda, where Michael Palin runs them over in humorous circumstances).

It is Saturday so there is nothing on the terrestrial TV except the Celebrity Big Brother thing which I do not watch but have heard is rubbish since they introduced the Goodies, I am guessing ruining it for everyone with Graeme Garden’s big ‘I am a doctor I should not be doing this’ ego.

Eventually I choose a film called ‘Kpax’ which seems uncontroversial enough, viz although it does not feature lesbains, John Thaw or squashed animals the synopsis indicates nothing to which anybody could possibly object. Plus it is described as sci-fi which means it is set in space, which is always enjoyable.

In the end it transpires that there is very little about space in the film, so although everybody quite likes it I feel a bit ripped off. But I have got through my shift of choosing. Tomorrow is another endless, endless day, but I go to bed secure that the evening will be Somebody Else’s Problem.