Hard Rain, Idiot Wind, Hurricane and Down in the Flood

NIGHT OF THE HURRICANE 15 October 1987 - Ann dragged me down to London's Wembley Arena to see Bob Dylan with Roger McGuinn and Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers. I hadn't seen Bob in concert since Earl's Court in '78, and Ann had never seen him so we were both very excited. We were staying at the Charing Cross Hotel in the Strand - quite upmarket for us, but only for that one night, and then back home to Scotland first train in the morning. The Hotel is at the end of the Strand at the junction with Trafalgar Square, Whitehall and the Mall leading to Buckingham Palace. Wembley Arena is not an ideal venue for rock concerts - primarily because, unles you are very lucky, you will be so far away from the stage that you need a radio-telescope to see the performers. We were a bit further back than that. I had actually bought quite an expensive pair of binoculars for just such an eventuality, but while we were sitting on the Embankment having a sandwich earlier in the afternoon some bas*ard swiped them. Anyway we enjoyed the concert, in the fairly reasonable belief that the ant-sized figure centre-stage was in fact our man Bob, and we retired back to our Hotel, a quick nightcap in the bar and off to bed, with a request for an alarm-call at 7.30am. I awoke some time later. I was convinced that we'd slept in. I switched on the bed-side light at the side of the bed to check my watch. The light wasn't working. Grumbling furiously, I got out of bed and stumbled towards the toilet. The light in there wasn't working either. Bugger this. I opened the curtain slightly. It was nearly daylight outside - I could read my watch - it was 7.40am. My first reaction was one of annoyance that they'd forgotten to give us our alarm call. Then I noticed something very curious. Our window looked right out onto the opening into Trafalgar Square - this was a Friday morning - it was 7.40am - a time of day when the place I was looking at was one of the busiest places in the World, with a cavalcade of buses, cars, lorries, horses, horse-drawn carriages, motor-cyclists, pedal-cyclists, pedestrians, shoppers, shop-keepers, commuters, tourists, beggars, sight-seers, gypsies, tramps and thieves all pushing and jostling towards their various destinations. There was no-one there ! There were no buses. No cars. No people. No sound. There was nothing. I put the television on. Not working. I put the radio on. Static. I went out into the corridor. It was pitch dark. I felt my way along the wall for some distance but didn't encounter another soul. I was afraid to go too far from the room in case I couldn't find my way back. I was suffering a very serious 'Day of the Triffids' moment. I went back into the room. Ann was still fast asleep. Right, let's think this through. I cogitated for a few minutes till I arrived at the only solution which made any sense. I roused Ann and said (in words which are quoted back to me on regular occasions) "I do not want to frighten you, darling, but I think there has been a nuclear attack in the middle of the night". It was my Bob Dylan 'Talking World War III Blues' moment. ("the only person left after the war was ME") Of course, it turned out that although serious, it was not quite as bad as that. Here is the BBC's account of 15/16 October 1987 Hurricane winds batter southern England. Southern Britain has begun a massive clear-up operation after the worst night of storms in living memory. At least 13 people are known to have died and many dozens have been injured, mostly by falling trees and buildings. Rescue workers faced an unprecedented number of call-outs as winds hit 94 mph (151 km/h) in the capital and over 110 mph (177 km/h) in the Channel Islands.

The hurricane had hit the very centre of London, sweeping right up the Strand and zeroing right in to the Charing Cross Hotel, shaking its windows and rattling its walls, while Ann and I slept like babbies. It had knocked out all TV, radio, electrical and telephonic systems in the south-east of England. It had blown down huge oak trees so that no access was possible in most of the main central thoroughfares, including the Strand and Trafalgar Square.

It led to many of Bob's Bootlegs being called "Night of the Hurricane".

In some other quarters it was known as 'the Night of the Fish' - but that is a whole other story