Abandon State, Leeks and Beetroot First

Well a week has gone by since my hapless city was lashed with the fury of a rather incontinent god.  "Stormageddon" proclaimed the newspaper headlines eager to emphasise exactly how terribly our fair town had suffered under the cruel vagaries of nature.  A colleague of mine who was born in the Philippines pointed out that back there they refer to this sort of weather as "Winter".  Some news outlets alluded darkly to climate change as a contributing factor.  You know climate change, it's what we used to call "weather" before we got addicted to melodrama.

I shouldn't mock, after all people died.  Not many, but some and some houses got damaged as well.  At this point let me toss in a quick word of praise for my ugly, old slipshod block of flats which survived with nary a drip.  Houses particularly got damaged if they were built near beaches.  As a general rule if you build your house less than a camel spit away from the ocean you shouldn't be too surprised if the ocean turns up in your living room from time to time.

I think it was the sight of a living pool stranded tragically on its side that brought home the true impact of this supposedly terrible storm to me.  That this became the iconic image associated with the storm shows our sense of priorities and also tells us that things weren't actually all that bad.  On an individual level of course whoever owns that swimming pool probably isn't happy about it and those who died have even more cause to complain but collectively can we please take a deep breath and get a grip.  If that really is the sort of disaster climate change will bring then we're absolutely fine.  If it is just a piece of unusually wild weather then we're still fine although we might like to tighten planning permission for where exactly you can dig an in ground swimming pool.  In short if that really was Stormageddon then it was a (very) damp squib.

Meanwhile down in Tasmania the dial was flipped from drought to flood without anything very much in between.  The city of Launceston was threatened by flooding and the presence of political leaders trying to persuade any survivors to vote for them.  Further to the south this blog's Ends of the Earth Reporter had grimmer tidings to relate.  Swollen rivers charged along suddenly inadequate beds threatening all those in their path.  All those in their path turned out to be a whole bunch of cows and the contents of a leek and beetroot warehouse.  The leeks and beetroot are apparently scattered across a beach being plundered by locals taking this opportunity to reacquaint themselves with what a vegetable looks like. 

Cattle being somewhat closer to the Tasmanian heart the whole rescue services of the state were mobilised to save their milk producing sisters (and given this is Tasmania that term might not be metaphorical).  As the flood waters raged some bloke swam out on a paddle board and escorted fifteen trapped cows to safety.  Or at least to such safety as can be expected when your life consists of growing to a certain size and then being killed.

Speaking of which I hope readers will be pleased to know that so far Mr Moo has evaded the executioners axe.  This is largely due to a disagreement between the two parties who want him dead.  One plans to drop him where he stands and then hack bits off him to sell to passers by.  The other feels that if he wanted nearly a tonne of dead animal piled up outside his front gate then he would hit it with his car like a normal person and insists that Mr Moo be dragged off to an abattoir.  The upshot is that so far Mr Moo hasn't been dragged anywhere just yet.  Flee for the hills Mr Moo while you still can!

We have a long weekend and my colleague and part time Tasmanian Affairs reporter is spending it knee deep in mud trying to repair flood damaged garlic with a hair dryer while Mr Moo looks on with a cynical eye.  I am relaxing by getting beaten in a wargaming tournament.  One day I must try and win one.