I think we will need some things from the shops. Our shelves are quite empty after having been away on holiday.
The Good Lady frowned into an empty cupboard that gaped open emptily like a Romanian student's backpack.
Oh baws, really? Isn't that storm 'Babet' or something happening right now?
I sighed and looked wearily out at the window. I was jiggered, absolutely jiggered. Two weeks of hot Ibizan sunshine, red wine and honey rum had reduced me to a hollow shell of a man. Much like our cupboards.
Och, it's only a wee bit of wind?
The Good Lady flicked a glance up at one of the windows where outside the storm raged.
I thought there was a red warning out and a notice from the Weather Service that there was a serious danger of death.
I made a feeble attempt to get up off the sofa but fell back defeated like a ballet dancer eating a biryani.
The Good Lady towered above me with her arms folded and pointed at the front door.
We need shopping. We need food, go.
I groaned like a fat Ewok that had been shot in the belly by a Stormtrooper's blaster and levered myself up.
Fine.
I grabbed a jacket and popped my head back in the lounge for some final words.
I am just going outside and may be some time.
And with that, I headed out into the storm.
Outside, the wind howled and tore at me, tugging the collar of my jacket and making my magnificent hair riffle back and forth. Rain, like a water God's jizzum, spattered my glasses.
I tucked my head down, staggered the few steps to the car and hopped in.
The journey to the nearest shop was a short one but not without peril. At one point I had to turn the volume on the car stereo up a couple of notches to eleven to drown out the demented howls of the wind.
Gigantic puddles at least a centimetre deep threatened to pull me down to a watery grave and by the time I reached the supermarket, my nerves were frayed.
Come on, dog. You can do this.
I muttered to myself as I yanked open the door and pushed out into the elements once more.
By now the storm was at its peak. The storm whipped a plastic bag up from the ground and flung it at me with seething malice. It hit my leg and malevolently fastened itself to my shin.
Arrghhh. Gerroff-a-me?!
The bag fought me every step of the way as I flung my leg this way and that to remove it.
Finally, it gave up and flapped off with a fluttery flup flup.
I staggered to the entrance of the Supermarket, a couple of leaves from a yellowing tree scything past my face. A man dashed out with his shopping holding a newspaper over his head and the storm's fury fluttered its pages slightly.
An old woman stepped in my way and looked out from under her umbrella.
Do you think the rain is heavy enough for my umbrella, son?
She cackled like one of Macbeth's witches.
I pushed past the mad old bird and entered the brightly lit safety of the supermarket. Unbelievably people roamed the aisles, laughing and smiling as if we were not all in imminent danger of watery wind death.
I ignored the fools and collected my rations for the family.
I only had to find my way home now. I prayed to whatever Gods were listening to lend me their strength.
Outside, It was worse than I could have imagined. A traffic cone had fallen over, battered by the savage violence of the wind.
A man's shoe lay discarded on the tarmac before me, of its owner, there was no sign. Perhaps he had been lofted into the heavens, like in the Wizard of Oz or some shit.
I wondered if I would make it. Cowering against the occasional drop of rain, I flipped my phone out to send the Good Lady one last message of love for her and the family.
She had beaten me to it.
Coffee's ready for you x
Her message said.
Oh, coffee? Magic. I straightened up and flipped a finger to the sky where Babet lurked in all her wet and windy majesty.
Then I drove home like a conquering hero of old.
As they say in the old stories, Fuck you Babet, nobody gets in the way of my coffee.