Storm Arwen is on its way.

 Storm Arwen is on its way. 

Oh no! The alphabetical storms are on their way. Now way back when, storms or any meteorological phenomena were just regarded as periodical weather events that simply blew over our rooftops, knocked over a couple of tiles, shook several telegraph poles and trees before just stopping. They'd probably play havoc with our plans for the day because, let's face it, you can't play croquet or tennis while wild winds and gusts of rain are sweeping through your local park. 

But Ladies and Gentlemen. Storm Arwen is preparing itself on some unsuspecting British coastline and you may wake up tomorrow with branches and twigs scattered all over your driveway. Storms have now become a common occurrence during the calendar year and Storm Arwen won't be entirely unprecedented because we've all seen storms in their different manifestations and now know what to expect. Of course storms can be powerful and tempestuous but that comes with the territory. 

In recent years we've seen all kinds of storms. There were the dramatic hurricanes that increasingly made their presence felt. We'll never forget the storms that were never predicted but then suddenly materialised the following morning. There were the storms that should have amounted to nothing more than several bucket loads of rain but then had a change of heart. There are the storms that you found to be utterly terrifying as a child as you pulled the blankets over your head and hid under the bed sheets. After several claps of thunder and lightning you dropped off to sleep, nervous, apprehensive and hoping for no more. 

Of course in October 1987 Britain was given the ultimate re-assurance by BBC weatherman Michael Fish that any forecasts of a major storm would be no more than a rumour. By the following morning we all woke up to find damage, carnage, debris, trees lying across roads and cars in an imminent state of complete disintegration, a world now horrified and perhaps traumatised by the evidence before them. For quite some time Britain must have thought the world had indeed come to an end. And yet this was not a disaster maybe a mini disaster where somehow we could pick up the pieces. 

In recent years there was a storm that became a tsunami, a vast mountainous spray of water that surged horrifically towards the mainland of an exotic island and tore down everything in its path. Suddenly, shops and houses became floating pieces of twisted steel, wood and glass that had left the people helpless and despairing. There were drifting restaurant signs, cars and buses now merely swimming for their lives. It was devastation on a massive scale and for those whose lives were turned upside down from that point onwards, it would leave them homeless, distraught and, in some cases, inconsolable.

Storm Arwen though is on its way and 100mph winds are expected to blast their way through the North East of England and then poor Scotland who always seem to get the brunt of bad weather. But we love the weather anyway. Who cares if it rains because you'll never hear any of us complaining? Storms though leave us conflicted with the whole gamut of emotions. Why do they have to wake us up during the night and why do they have to make such a raucous noise when they arrive. Could they perhaps not keep up that incessant howling, whistling, rattling and roaring refrain? Could they turn down the volume and the intensity, the crashing, sweeping, shrieking cacophony?

There are some who may take some quiet pleasure in a major storm or a succession of storms. Perhaps they remind us of CS Forrester's Hornblower stories or Joseph Conrad's lyrical descriptions of ship wrecks. Then there are the thick sheets of rain sweeping across the yardarm followed by yet more ferocious gusts of wind that leave Conrad's boats battered and in splinters. Storm Arwen though is poised to leave us high and dry, quivering and quaking at the sheer immensity of it all. 

It could be that by the time Storm Arwen blows itself out and heads for another country or continent, we'll all turn to each other and wonder what all the fuss was about. For the time being it is time to batten down the hatches, lock your doors, cover the ears of your pets and cower under a kitchen table. There's no need to panic, no thoughts of an emergency because by this time next week a sweltering heatwave could catch us out altogether and that passing storm was ancient history. So folks don't beware of yet more storms that have now been immortalised by alphabetical sequences and everyday names. They are merely storms that look nothing like teacups.