We’re all at sea as lovely Abigail blows a hooley

When there is a right root-ripper of a gale whizzing across the Atlantic Ocean, it was so thoughtful of them to call it Abigail. While she is chucking your bins about the garden, sinking your boat and flinging your slates at your neighbour’s car, it is so comforting to think that the particular hooley concerned has such a delightful name.

If you are reading this in Ireland or New Zealand, by hooley I mean a strong wind. The other day I learned that hooley does not signify anything to do with wind strength in either of these two countries.

A hooley to a Kiwi or a Paddy is a get-together, a ceilidh or just a party. A right ripper of a party, obviously.

The Met Office decided to give the public the chance to name big storms “to raise awareness of the weather”. So if we call it a Force 10 gale or even a hooley, no one cares? Abigail, the multitude decided.

Those boffins with their heads in the clouds at the Exeter HQ of the Met Office seem to think if they call it something like Abigail or Angusina, that blast which whistled through these parts causing power cuts on Monday night, we’ll drop everything and batten down the hatches.

Abigail indeed. That’s nice, as that Irish housewife who turns up in repeats on BBC1 most weeks often says. Abigail is far more appropriate in the native language of the Hebrides and Olde Alba as a name for a particularly strong gust up your kilt.

The phrase “What a gale” in Gaelic is “Abair geile”. When that is uttered in the manner of a fast-talking Hearach, for instance, it is very similar to Abigail. Coincidence or what?

Which reminds me to ask if anyone on the windy west of Lewis is missing a boat because of Abigail?

If so, I think I know where it is - or at least where it was. Mrs X was out and about taking photos of storm scenes early on Friday morning and, down at the shore at Bragar, she spotted an open boat drifting out in the boiling brine.

As she quickly set up her camera, the ill-fated vessel was being washed onto the jagged rocks near the cemetery and was being pounded by the breakers rolling right in from Rockall.

Abigail was merciless. Like so many of the West Side dames I used to see at dances in nearby Shawbost Hall, she kicked, she spat and she howled. She decided that bucking boat was going down.

It was reduced to matchstick-like fragments which then bobbed forlornly about where a once-elegant, shapely white-hulled boat of 15 to 20 feet length had proudly piddled about just 10 minutes earlier.

It could have broken loose anywhere on that coast but, if you are missing just such a fine craft, my missus has photos and video of its sad demise which may be useful for your insurance claim. Won’t cost you much. Seriously, it won’t cost you anything at all.

If they are looking for a name for the next big storm, I have a great suggestion. It doesn’t sound very ladylike but how about the next cyclone is named after a bloke called Lady Colin? The fullblown tantrums of Argyll’s own Lady Colin Campbell on I’m A Celebrity ... must put her in the running.

Can anyone ever beat her rant to Tony Hadley after she had to do the washing up? She whined: “I have five tiaras.”

Why five tiaras when Lady C seems to have only one head? She went on the survival show for funds for roof repairs to her castle in Sussex. Well, she could sell a tiara or two.

She is also there to lose weight as she’s been trying to slim for 20 years. Tucking into fare like that yucky Spanish Vom-lette is truly disgusting way to do that but a course of

Abigail wasmerciless. Like so many of the West Side dames I used to see at dances in nearby Shawbost Hall, she kicked, she spat and she howled. She decided that bucking boat was going down.

WeightWatchers is not that expensive really. Far less than a tiara, for example. Just saying, Lady Colin.

The personification of natural events like storms is really weird when you think about it. We had Abigail last week and now her weaker brother Barney is causing waves, cancelling our ferries and putting the lights out. The latest scientific thinking is that they are connected and that the storms plan their own course because they sort of communicate with each other.

Really? How on earth do they work that out? That just sounds too far-fetched for me. After all, what would a big storm say to another smaller storm? Maybe something like: “I have my eye on you.”