The after effects of yesterday’s storm have been apocalyptic. I use the term advisedlyas, apart from the expected mayhem, it appears that the storm has temporarily bent various, previously immutable, physical laws to its will, of which more later. Electricity, water and ice contrived to flash, dash and crash from the heavens in a wilful demonstration of celestial spleen which revealed an unforeseen quality in our newly built préau, being that of a well perforated colander.Standing beneath the colander brought to mind how Hawkeye remained hidden from view, behind a waterfall, from Chingachgook’s Mohicans whilst a small fragment of my shattered sanity remembered that Hawkeye had been grateful for the fortunate presence of a waterfall whereas I was not; at that point there was a loud bang which suggested that I had been shot by one of the Mohicans, who, to be honest, I thought we had seen the last of, but the lack of cordite in the air led me to the fact that lightning had once again struck in the same place and had blown up my office. Ever the pessimist, how lucky was I to find that it had only grilled my computer, the telephone and the internet…hard to get luckier than that. My luck continued to such an extent that, as I reached hurriedly for the car keys on their wall hook, I was lucky enough to witness an example of either auto kinetics or a slight tilt in the earth’s axis as the keys fell from my grasp and landed, not neatly but with a fucking great splash, in the bowl of cat’s milk that I’m sure had not previouslybeen directly beneath them. Finding pessimism too depressing, even for such a curmudgeon as myself, I optimistically set off to the nearest large town to replace the frazzled router.The queue outside the ill named Orange (henceforth to be known as Orage) Boutique was very long indeed.Each of us in that Orage queue cradled a dead Livebox in our arms which, when alive, will serve as a conduit to the treasure trove that is the sum of man’s knowledge and when dead will not; rather it will act as a conduit to the darkest recesses of of our minds wherein abide the three imps of impatience, impotence and imprecation. As I stood there, deballed, the oh so nearly smiling Orage sales person advised our beleaguered line that there would be no more Liveboxes available until the end of the day…which information, it was clearly evident, was not a crowd pleaser leading her to hurriedly lock the Boutique’s portal as it looked as though the tumbrils might roll once more down la rue de la République……there maywell be trouble in store.