Thunderstruck

Last night was a relief. Exams finally over. When I called my Smaller Half afterward she said that it was stormy down here, but by the time I got home it had all blown out to sea. We sat looking out over the water and as the darkness fell we could see the flashes of lightning playing across the clouds on the horizon.

I love thunderstorms. When the blue clouds gather I cross my fingers and hope it gets loud. I'm always a bit surprised when people tell me they are frightened of them. To me it seems a bit feeble, as if you were a family dog that should know better but can't help cowering under the verandah anyway. (For those of you who are frightened of thunder, feel free to point and laugh at me when I squeal and spasm at a tiny little spider.)

I think the reason I like thunderstorms is that when I was kid I really enjoyed blackouts. Our thunderstorms usually happened in the early evening and night, so my enjoyment of blackouts was maximised. Blackouts during the daytime are no fun at all. They are just an inconvenience. You wonder why the fridge light doesn't turn on when you open the door, and notice that the radio doesn't work. Given that it isn't even dark, daytime blackouts are not worthy of the name. They should just be called fridge-outs.

But night-time blackouts are superb. The whole rhyme and reason of the evening is overturned unexpectedly. No television. No proper dinner. No lights to read by. I think I enjoyed it that all of a sudden the whole family was forced together by having our routine ripped away. It was a surprise mini-holiday, a gift from the gods. Not only did we not have to do anything, we couldn't do anything. Not our usual stuff anyway. That improvisational feeling of suddenly having to make do was a thrill for me.

I always felt sad when the power came back on. It was like being engrossed in a childhood game and suddenly being interrupted by an adult walking into the room saying, in their big loud voice, "What are you kids doing?", and all you could think of to say was, "Just playing", and the magic was lost. When the power came back the lights would flick a few times then come on for good, the fridge motor would start to hum again, and we'd all blink at each other a few times as fantasy land was snatched away, and we'd all slowly disperse and wander off to do whatever it was we normally did.

I think the next time you find yourself frittering away the evening you should sneak outside and flip the power off in your house. Bust out the candles, sit together in a room, and see what happens.