A few weeks after we moved into our new house last summer, I woke up one morning to discover that the bed was shaking underneath me.
I lay as still as possible for a few minutes to assess the situation and, yup, there it was again – a light trembling, every few seconds, reverberating up through the mattress, as if coming from somewhere within the house itself.
Terry had gotten up before me, so this shaking couldn’t be explained by his snoring or twitching, or anything like that, so as far as I could tell, there were four possible explanations for what I was experiencing:
1. EARTHQUAKE OMG
2. HOUSE FALLING DOWN OMG
3. DEMONIC POSSESSION OMG
4. I had contracted a rare, deadly disease, in which the body mimicked the same sensation you would normally only experience during an earthquake, or a demonic possession, say. So rare was this disease that the medical profession would be utterly baffled by it, and I would spend the rest of my days feeling like the house was falling down around me. On the plus side, though, I would probably get a disease named after me. Silver linings, people, silver linings.
Scotland doesn’t tend to get a lot of earthquakes, and our house is fairly new, so it was obvious to me that options 3 and four were the only credible explanations for the phenomenon. Unwilling to face such hard truths that early in the morning, however, when Terry appeared at the bedroom door, bringing me a mug of coffee, I decided to go with option 2, and solemnly informed him that our brand new house was in the process of falling down around us. This is why Terry gets up earlier than me and brings me coffee: I’m really not a morning person.
Now, as much as I didn’t want the house to be falling down, I also kind of DID want the house to be falling down, because at least that would be better than the alternatives, right? I mean, give me a falling-down-house over a demonic possession ANY DAY. So when I broke the news to Terry, what I was really hoping for was some validation of what I was experiencing: an “oh, yeah, the shaking bed thing? I’ve noticed that too!” perhaps. Anything, in other words, to reassure me that I wasn’t mad. Or, you know, possessed.
“You’re mad,” said Terry, placing the coffee on my bedside table. “I should really have made this stronger.”
And then he turned and walked away, leaving me to my fears. I worried compulsively about The Shaking, as I came to think of it, for a few hours, and then, as is my way, completely forgot about it… until one December morning last year, when I was woken in the night by the sound of the wind battering against the windows, and realised that, once again, the bed was shaking underneath me.
“Oh yeah,” I thought, “I’m possessed by a demon! Totally forgot about that!”
I lay there for a few minutes, feeling gradually more freaked out, then I got up to go to the bathroom… at which point I realised that it wasn’t just the bed: the whole HOUSE was shaking.
I went to the bathroom (shaking), and as I re-entered the bedroom (also shaking), I noticed Terry was awake. Thank God! “Terry,” I begun, “Remember that…”
“Yes,” he said, “I can feel it too: you’re not mad. This time.”
Our house is three storeys high and sits on top of a hill which, the previous owner told us, is actually the highest point in the district. The third floor is occupied by the master bed/bath, and is tucked under the eaves of the house: it turns out that any-time we get high winds, that top floor shakes. Like, a LOT. This winter may have been relatively mild, but it’s also been the windiest one anyone can remember, which means we’ve spent most of the winter being buffeted by high winds and feeling the floor shake beneath our feet. It also means that it’s been almost impossible to take outfit photos lately, because even on days when I’m NOT stupid enough to try to wear a full skirt on a windy day, the majority of the photos end up like this:
Most of the time, though, I AM stupid enough to try to wear a full skirt on a windy day, which means the majority of THOSE photos end up looking like this:
If you live near me, and were out and about this Saturday afternoon, there’s a good chance you saw my underwear at some point. I am so sorry. There goes the neighbourhood, huh? It just wasn’t like this until the damn fashion bloggers moved on in.
Can it just be spring now? Pretty please?
(Here is a really cheesy photo which gives you an idea of what this skirt actually looks like when it’s not being flattened against my body or blown over my head…)