Buses fell over. Slates flew off roofs. The sea invaded our streets. Schools were closed. Frickin' eejits drove around filming the "hurricane" on their iPhones, dreaming of YouTube fame.
24 hours later, all was calm. "We survived!" we declared. "We're Scottish! Nothing can touch us - not even Hurricane Bawbag!"
Today saw the return of Bawbag, or perhaps his (her?) slightly less vicious cousin.
This was taken this afternoon, half a mile from my parents' house:
Today, we didn't see it coming. School was open. Picking Little J up from nursery, his hat blew off and flew across the road. Then jumped back on the pavement. Back on the road. We waved goodbye as we watched it do its merry dance. Until it landed on the nose of a large, lumbering golden retriever, who patiently wore it until we ran as fast as our little legs could carry us and Got the Hat Back.
Driving home from my parents' house several hours later, we slowed down to marvel at the waves swelling high in the air and crashing over the wall. We were so busy oohing and aahing, we didn't notice the Christmas tree making its way towards the car (well, half a Christmas tree, but still). It smacked the side of the car before rolling on.
We made it home safely, locked the door behind us and said a quick prayer for the greenhouse.
Credit for the image (Troon sea front at 2pm, Tuesday 13th December): Gary McLaughlin
Credit for the blog title goes to my mum