The wind from the North tore at the fabric, it’s force pushing the body of the tent down onto me, the sound drowing out every thought, never mind the metal on my iPod. I unzipped the inner door and noticed that the earlier Southerly wind had filled the porch full of snow, my stove, poles and pack were now decorations on a Christmas cake, odd additions to a snow covered Victorian winter village. The pegs holding the porch down were showing more and more bare metal as it danced wildly on the spot, a Riverdancer with Lithium batteries installed. I opened the outer zip a few inches and winced as the rocket propelled snow sprayed my face, blinking through it I opened the door more and looked over to Phil, 20 feet away. My torch beam picked out his face grimacing through a crack in his door as he poked his torch out. The snow was passing horizontaly, his tent was shaking violently, as was mine, I could see his expression as he picked out it’s twisted shape through the blizzard. It was 0300, hours ’til daylight, -8°C in the porch. As long as it didn’t get any worse we could ride it out…we pondered the situation and each other through the darkness and the mayhem, we shouted as one…”Er, are you alright?”.