A week or so ago, a tornado swept through a London residential area. It was rather dramatic, but nothing too impressive. No Hurricane Katrina here.
The Evening Standard (London) have printed an eyewitness’ account of the day. It’s terrific, for all the wrong reasons.
You’d think they’d been hit by the worst natural disaster since the dinosaurs snuffed it.
See for yourselves at: http://mytornadohell.livejournal.com
My favourite passage has to be this gem:
“Since then I’ve been in an emotional cyclone. I already had a brilliant trauma specialist therapist. I went to see him on Thursday evebning [sic]. I’ve felt a desperate need not to be alone, to keep in touch. (We’ve stayed with friends rather than in a hotel because I want to be with people I love.) I haven’t slept much. I’ve shivered brutally. For three nights, I saw the tornado coming towards me whenever I shut my eyes. I’ve jumped at loud noises, panicked hearing sirens, cried endlessly. Sat in my car and screamed and screamed hysterically at such unfairness. Fought the desire for cigarettes and alcohol after 18 years’ abstinence. Despaired of my loss of earnings. Felt like never living in my house again.”
Blimey, that’s quite a tornado. Not only did it mangle a few roof tiles, but it seemed to make the author gain heroin-addict symptoms. Incredible.
(Thanks to Michael Hewitt at Journobiz.com)
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