Storms terrify me now. They never used to, but when you build a house and have only your own previously overconfident self to blame if anything goes wrong, it turns every gust of wind into a terrifying spectre of potential catastrophe. I don’t quite know what I’m afraid of. The house is not going to blow down; a highly educated and qualified person designed the frame to withstand more wind load than England can throw at us. And the roof is probably sound. Probably. I guess trees are frightening. We are surrounded by loads of them, all well and truly tall enough to take out this house if they fell in the right direction. But none of them are in danger of falling, that I know of.
Probably it’s the fact that I have no insurance.
Yeah, that’s what it is.
I haven’t checked but I’m pretty sure nobody would insure this place, as it’s so unusual. And anyway I couldn’t afford it right now. When we can afford it, I’m inclined to just keep a separate account, called “insurance” and put some money in it every month for use if we ever need it. I shall think on it as soon as I’m earning a living.