Maree’s musings

It’s an … ILL WIND

There’s a whisper in the wind … Martinborough is superseding its suburb over the hill with a reputation for excessive air movements. ‘Windy Wellington’ is all very well; just don’t send it winding [?geddit] its way over the Rimutakas. We’ve got plenty, thanks!
Put simply, wind is merely air particles moving about. One can’t see it: probably because your eyes are full of dust and gritty bits or your spectacles have blown away. Scientists know the cause, but it’s the effects we dislike.

Whirlwinds go in circles; others ‘prevail’ from any direction. Well, nor-west, actually. Everyone knows that. It can blow you away any day, but especially on Wednesday. The 2017 calendar now reads ‘MONDAY, TUESDAY, WINDSDAY, THURSDAY …’ – on an exceptionally good week. It’s no mystery of fate: Wednesday is our Rubbish Day. (More on this later)
Many winds have fascinating names. From over the ditch [note to you Aussies: if you want to break wind, keep it to yourself] there’s a Brickfielder blowing hot air from the outback to cooler regions; all the while spreading red dust from brickworks all over Sydney’s clotheslines. Usually followed by a colder Southerly Buster; bringing rain, and thus wreaking damage on the locals’ dust-encrusted washing. I doubt it is fondly called ‘a second wind’. Mediterranean regions are famous for the Sirocco, which picks up, to coin a phrase, in the Sahara; it’s named Khamseen (fifty) in Egypt. But don’t get the wind up, that’s merely days, not weeks. OK for them. Another term, Samoon, is Arabic for poison. Many other names are unpronounceable, and possibly unprintable! Closer to home, Willywaw and Willy-Willy; both blowing near our Rimutakas. Here in town: ‘… bit breezy, eh?’ or ‘b***dy wind!’ usually suffice.
Measuring wind speed has had a colourful history. Having ‘the wind in your sails’ produced progress – literally and also for one Francis Beaufort; who in 1805 produced a scale of thirteen [an unfortunate choice?] classes based on observations of ships’ sails. At zero, you would be cursing and becalmed. Top speed – “which no canvas sails could withstand” – produced more cursing, although limeys couldn’t hear themselves speak, naturally. When steam power took over, one studied the waves instead.
A landlubbers’ scale was also produced; serious but frequently amusing in description. To illustrate: a Beaufort wind #4 – Dust and loose paper raised. Small branches begin moving. Number eight (a ‘fresh gale’) produces – Twigs broken from trees. Cars veer on road. Progress on foot seriously impeded. Hurricane force 12 – scarey stuff! Nowadays, we are blown away by technology and flash gear: poetic descriptions are currently used only by Dan the weather man and us lesser mortals.
Of course, there’s nothing stopping us from inventing scales of our own. Here’s one I ‘got wind of’ when outside on one of those Wednesdays. It’s a relatively simple formula for wind velocity: Measure the distance plastic milk bottles have travelled from the kerbside green recycling bin and divide by the time elapsed since you put the bin out. That’ll give you some idea. To determine the speed at the gale scale’s peak; repeat the measurement for the bin itself. That’s if you can find it!!
It’s an ill wind, alright.