June 1st marked the start of the hurricane season.  As usual, I am thrilled.  Oh the shame.

Ever since I was a boy I’ve been fascinated by big storms. I blame my childhood book “Hurricanes and Twisters”. Not only did it excite me about weather and science, it appealed to my need for death and destruction. I think little boys in general are intrigued with mass destruction whether from natural or science fiction methods (I recall repeatedly attacking my Fisher-Price village with ferocious mutant teddy bears or plastic dinosaurs).

Trouble is, I didn’t grow out of it. I am embarrassed to admit I look forward to Hurricane Season in the same way other men look forward to Football Season. The Child in me always wants an active season: the bigger the better. Between now and Hallowe’en I am glued to TWC, hoping for a big one. I follow the storms’ paths, the predictions of land-fall, and how strong they are. Actually, when the land, I tend to loose interest.

It is not the death of people that fascinates; it is the awesome power of something natural, mammoth and unstoppable.  If I am really really honest with myself, there is a puerile element of watching smarty pants people with homes built in foolish places get their comeuppance viz. running away.

After a being teased about Midwestern snowstorms, I get to see the warmer weather climate-dwellers have their own Nature issue.

Oh dear indeed.

Explain it as you will, storms are jolly good fun.