I said leave it outside.
Mrs P was not keen. We discussed it. I lost. So we moved it. Inside.
I should explain the centrepiece of our garden furniture is a huge piece of solid glass.
Mrs P felt the wind could lift it and break it. I felt I could lift it and break it and, unlike the insurance company, probably wouldn't be able to fork out to replace it as easily as them.
Anyway. As I say, we "discussed" it. I lost.
And so, for the past five days the garden furniture has been in my lounge. I've been taking a piece out at a time. I'm almost done. Just the big, heavy centrepiece to go now. I'll be happy to see it go. Yesterday morning, as I hobbled to the loo, I stubbed my toe on the damn thing.
Of course, this wasn't the first time I've had to take drastic action to avoid nature's wrath.
I vividly recall a similar scenario on the West Coast back in the days when a humble cadet journalist's pay enabled him to pay the hire purchase on a Datsun 180B and have enough left over for a tank of gas so he could get to Christchurch.
As it turned out, this surplus funding was vital to the avoidance of a nasty storm bearing down on the region.
Not that "the boys" and I needed much of an excuse to pile into the trusty vehicle and head over the hill, but this was different. A vitally important rugby league test against the Aussies was scheduled for the telly that night. This was back in the days when you could belt your opponent all over the park, have a beer after and not cop a fine. We had a good Kiwi team then too, so it was just a great chance to see some of those Aussies get smashed and, therefore, was not to be missed.
Trouble was, whenever a storm hit the Coast there was a chance the TV transmitter would go out and we'd be up a certain creek without a paddle.
We decided to take no chances and four of us bundled into the said Datsun for the 250km trip to the gentler weather - and uninterrupted TVs - of Canterbury.
Now in those days, any teenage Coaster leaving the region had to do a couple of mandatory things.
First, he had to let his mum know where he was going, what time he would be back, and confirm he had clean underwear on in case he was run over by a bus and needed hospital care. And second, he had to take orders from non-travelling mates for KFC, which was not then available on the western side of the Mainland.
Anyway. Off we went in driving rain, creeks and rivers rising, slips coming down behind us, fog, zombies, vampires ... oops sorry. Got a bit carried away. But I'm sure you get the picture. It was foul.
Eventually, we reached the top of the pass and the downhill run to the lights of Canterbury below. We followed a bright light in the sky and eventually arrived at KFC and nearby was a stable with a manger ... well, a pub with a bar and, more importantly, a telly. An enjoyable evening was had by all.
A local appeared near the end of the game to advise he'd heard the worst of the weather had passed and so, pleased at the prospect of getting back home to sleep in a real bed - typically as teenagers we hadn't given a thought to any sleeping arrangements - we decided we'd drive back.
Obviously sensible decision making was lacking in a foursome with a combined age of roughly 65 and before long we found ourselves sitting in a soggy rest area, the river ahead threatening to sweep away the bridge, and the Ministry of Works grader driver outside presumably wondering whether he should quietly murder the four idiots he'd stopped trying to drive in treacherous conditions.
And so there we sat until daybreak and all six buckets of KFC had been consumed and the worst of the storm had passed.
Unlike my throbbing toe at the moment, we didn't suffer any injuries (except maybe indigestion) but I do recall we copped a little bit of an extra belting on the league field a week or so later.
Obviously, it doesn't do to deprive a fellow footballer his eagerly anticipated fried chicken delicacy.
Come to think of it, maybe Mrs P is right in what she says. KFC can be bad for you.
Kevin Page has been a journalist for 35 years. He hasn't made enough money to retire after writing about serious topics for years so he's giving humour a shot instead.
