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Nice One Kyrill
Jan. 20th, 2007 08:15 pmNo, let's not travel down the road of football songs.
Although, thinking of football songs, I remember that one involving Chris Waddle in his mullet days. Coincidentally, I intend to visit the "Mullet Peninsula" during my stay in Ireland next week. I shall attempt to bring back photographs, if I am not blown out to sea. It's about as far west as you can get without being on Craggy Island. However, I will not be playing golf on Carne (www.carnegolflinks.com), referred to in the guide as "possibly the most challening 18-hole championship links course in Ireland", even though it is "open to non-members" and is a snip at 35 euro a day during January and February. I suspect this might be because all of the members are far too sensible to want to play it except on the west of Ireland's one sunny and windless day a year, when all the photographers rush out to Carne and Ballybunion to take the pictures that will go in the brochures. Mr Woodhouse and Mr Gamble know better.
But, back to Kyrill. There I was, early on Friday morning, discussing the likely insurance cost of the storms overnight, (all events now lead to my calculating the economic and insured costs -- sad, or what?) when I saw the storm being referred to as "Storm Cyril".
"Storm Cyril?" I said, incredulously. "What kind of a name for a storm is THAT? " It was also a bit puzzling, because we had just had Storm Franz, and these things are meant to go in a vague kind of alphabetical order. Storm Gunthar a few years ago just prceded Lothar, for example.
So, it was with some relief that I saw the German press yesterday referring to storm "Kyrill", with a hard "k". That, I thought, is a much more macho name, something that befits a storm that really did not fuck around when it came to laying waste to any poorly built building in northern Europe. I daresay if anyone in Europe used the timber frame construction method (well, some do, but not many) and found themselves in the path of Kyrill in a bad mood, the house just would not be there. Not for nothing did the fable of Three Little Pigs arise.
People who live in timber-frame houses, take note.
Although, thinking of football songs, I remember that one involving Chris Waddle in his mullet days. Coincidentally, I intend to visit the "Mullet Peninsula" during my stay in Ireland next week. I shall attempt to bring back photographs, if I am not blown out to sea. It's about as far west as you can get without being on Craggy Island. However, I will not be playing golf on Carne (www.carnegolflinks.com), referred to in the guide as "possibly the most challening 18-hole championship links course in Ireland", even though it is "open to non-members" and is a snip at 35 euro a day during January and February. I suspect this might be because all of the members are far too sensible to want to play it except on the west of Ireland's one sunny and windless day a year, when all the photographers rush out to Carne and Ballybunion to take the pictures that will go in the brochures. Mr Woodhouse and Mr Gamble know better.
But, back to Kyrill. There I was, early on Friday morning, discussing the likely insurance cost of the storms overnight, (all events now lead to my calculating the economic and insured costs -- sad, or what?) when I saw the storm being referred to as "Storm Cyril".
"Storm Cyril?" I said, incredulously. "What kind of a name for a storm is THAT? " It was also a bit puzzling, because we had just had Storm Franz, and these things are meant to go in a vague kind of alphabetical order. Storm Gunthar a few years ago just prceded Lothar, for example.
So, it was with some relief that I saw the German press yesterday referring to storm "Kyrill", with a hard "k". That, I thought, is a much more macho name, something that befits a storm that really did not fuck around when it came to laying waste to any poorly built building in northern Europe. I daresay if anyone in Europe used the timber frame construction method (well, some do, but not many) and found themselves in the path of Kyrill in a bad mood, the house just would not be there. Not for nothing did the fable of Three Little Pigs arise.
People who live in timber-frame houses, take note.
