That's Entertainment

"...extreme weather conditions mean that our engineers are unable to give a time for restoration of supply. Further updates will be given as they become available, otherwise this message will be updated at 8am. Thank you for your patience."

I sat, in the flickering candlelight, and reflected how useful it was that at least the office phone was still working. I also reflected on how useful it was that we had recently had a candlelit event in the house.

The high winds had caused another bout of devastation. The lights had flickered gamely for a while and then the power failed altogether.

"Woohoo!" I cried as the computer monitor went blank before my eyes, taking with it all those annoying emails asking me to do things.

"Yes!" I exclaimed as my mobile phone lost all signal, presumably as a mast died somewhere. "I am incommunicado!"

The office phone rang. "Damn." It was my boss, advising me to switch my two-way radio to the special channel, reserved for such situations. I was partially communicado. It would do.

Once it got too dark to see comfortably in the office I decided to take a walk with the dog and see what had detonated in the storms. The orchards did not disappoint. As I took Blair Witch Style footage of the broken trees I had a brief moment of health and safety angst, but it soon passed. No bits of tree fell upon me, I am happy to report.

The most fortunate aspect of living where I do during a lengthy power cut is that the house was created for a time without electricity. We lit the wood burner, stoked up the Rayburn, and were all set for hot water, hot food, hot drinks and heat. We ate as a family around the big kitchen table, surrounded by my selection of candles, from tiny tealights to enormous church-style pillars of wax. Conversation flowed. Then ebbed. Flowed again. Ebbed.

"Hey! We could watch a DVD on the laptop!"

Fantastic. Trying to read my book by candlelight had been making my eyes hurt anyway. And Radio 4 was not holding my interest. So, we gathered around the miraculously fully-charged laptop and got our fix of pretty colours on a screen. Modern living is addictive.

Power Cut

I stepped out of my car and crossed the car park to the darkened office. My boss stood outside, smoking his bedraggled roll-up.

“The power’s gone,” he said, as I walked towards him. “Went off about ten minutes ago.”

Inside the office things were gloomy. No computers glowing, no fluorescent lights humming, no phones ringing. One by one everyone left their respective desks and gathered in the open space, near the door. It was dark. It was getting cold. I kept having a strange mental block about the power being out. No computer, no email – no problem, I thought, I’ll just fax things through instead! (Head – desk – thud!) Ok, scrub that. I’ll just get this photocopying done. (Arg! How can I be this much of a doofus?) Eventually I began to get the concept of “power cut” and joined the others for a bit of cheering banter.

“How long,” I asked them, “before we go feral, Lord of the Flies style?”

They reckoned about ninety minutes before the charcoal stripes appeared across our cheeks and we would have to eat one of the wardens.

Fortunately the power came back on again 57 minutes later, I was able to complete my photocopying, the kettle went back on, my colleague had her Cuppa Soup and cannibalism was averted.