Potato, po-tah-to...

Hey people, let me educate you a minute. Anyone know the difference between a hurricane, a typhoon and a cyclone? No? Well, thanks to my friendly meteorologist, I do, now.
So they’re all exactly the same weather system. It’s just that when one is over the Atlantic, it’s called a hurricane; when over the Pacific, a typhoon; and when over the Indian Ocean, a cyclone.
Kind of like when another person steals from you we call it robbery, but when the government steals from you we call it taxation. I keed! I keed! I love you Bertie. Gawaan the Aidan’s !!!
What am I talking about. I’m not even a resident taxpayer in Ireland, though that forty-Euro-a-year credit card levy still smarts.
Anyway, the reason I’m waffling on about stormy weather and the like is that typhoon number twelve is heading our way. It’s a rare breed: one of the 1% of typhoons that originate in the Atlantic and start their life out as a hurricane. Feeling itchy feet, they speed off over the International Date Line and suddenly become a typhoon.
This wordplay is all well and good, but it still doesn’t change the fact that I’m battening down the hatches yet again in preparation for another wind and rain assault. And the typhoon season only lasts until, what, November! Flippin’ marvellous. You wouldn’t credit Japanese weather.
It’s actually lashing out of the heavens as I type. And this after four hours of Japanese class and nowt but a two-and-a-half-hour mock test to fill my evening. I bet you’re all mad jealous of my exotic lifestyle.
I need a drink. (Successfully 10 days since my last alcoholic beverage, people. I’m a reformed man!)