🌶️ Sue’s After-Dark Diaries – Episode 28: Storm Goretti

Snowed In, Power Out, Still More Competent Than Everyone Else

Storm Goretti Makes an Entrance

A major UK storm rolls in late Thursday, intensifies by the hour, and immediately exposes how fragile everyone else’s planning really is.

By morning, the power goes off at 08:17 am, and I don’t panic, I’ve got this covered.

This is important because panic is for people who still believe the system works. I do not.  I live in the UK. I have pattern recognition. If something can fail, it will… loudly, publicly, and with a press conference afterwards.

Storm Goretti, apparently. Which sounds less like a weather system and more like a woman who’d borrow your charger, drain it completely, and then say, “Oh, was that important?” while maintaining eye contact and zero remorse.

The snow isn’t falling. It’s being launched. Sideways and with force. The wind is screaming like it’s got unresolved issues, and something metallic outside is banging repeatedly. I assume it’s either a loose sign or the last nerve of public infrastructure finally snapping.

The lights flicker once, twice, and then go out.
The heating gives up without a fight.
The Wi-Fi dies quietly, like it’s embarrassed to be associated with the rest of the situation.

Somewhere in the building, someone screams. Of course they do.

I do not.
I am too busy being right.

Power Cut, No Panic

While everyone else spirals, I demonstrate basic adult competence.

I don’t scream.
I don’t swear.
I don’t start lighting candles like I’m preparing to die of dysentery.

I stand up calmly, walk to the drawer, and pull out my power bank. Fully charged. Heavy. Reassuring. The emotional support brick of technology.

I plug my phone in and say, out loud, to nobody, “Well. Obviously.”

I didn’t charge it because of the storm. I charged it because things fail. Governments fail. Promises fail. People with clipboards fail. The bloody government can’t organise grit, but I can manage a battery percentage. Preparedness isn’t paranoia if you’re always right.

Outside my door, voices are already loud, rising; did I hear Sharon clucking?

Someone is demanding to know who’s “responsible” for the lift not working, which suggests they think there’s a person in charge of gravity. Someone else announces loudly that this “never happens abroad”, despite having been to Spain twice.

This is why I own chargers. You never know what’s around the corner.

Benji vs The Weather

Benji immediately decides the storm is alive and has it in for him.

Benji, my small dog, is six kilos of anxiety wrapped in fur and has decided the weather is alive and out to get him. He barks at the window. He growls at the wind. He refuses to go anywhere near the front door because of the snow — purely on instinct. I give him the look that says, Really?

I open the door a crack.

The wind roars straight through the hallway like it’s been waiting.

Benji retreats instantly, skidding across the floor, colliding with the wall, and disappearing under a blanket like a dog who’s seen things he can’t unsee.

“Fine,” I tell him. “Hold it forever.”

He trembles under the blanket, deeply offended by nature. Every time the wind rattles the window, he lets out a small huff, as if this entire situation could have been avoided if I’d made better life choices. Cheeky little traitor.

Twenty minutes later, he starts circling.

“No,” I say.

He circles again.

“I’m not negotiating with weather-based stubbornness.”

Eventually, I try again. Door open. Wind howling. Snow flies in sideways and starts attacking my ankles.

Benji plants all four paws, leans back, and refuses to move like a dog-shaped anchor.

“Well,” I say, closing the door, “indoor toilet it is then.”

He looks so relieved.
I’m not.

Government Alerts and False Authority

Official confirmation arrives long after it’s useful, as tradition demands.

My phone buzzes.

A government alert.

“Severe weather warning. Only travel if essential.”

Oh really?

Thank you for letting me know after the country’s already shut down and I’m snowed into my flat like I’ve offended a deity. If the apocalypse happens, we’ll get a text three days later suggesting we “remain calm” and bring our own torch.

“Only days into 2026, and it’s already testing me.”A clean slate. Hope. Yea ok.

Instead, I’m sitting in an apartment block with no power, listening to my neighbours discover consequences in real time.

If 2026 were a person, it would have arrived uninvited, eaten your food, and asked if it could “crash here for a bit”.

Dan, Consistency, and Attempted Work

Some things in my life remain dependable.

Dan is beside me.

My vibrator.
My constant.
Fully charged.

Because I am not reckless.

He sits there quietly, dependable, radiating calm competence. I trust Dan more than most people with jobs.

I briefly attempt to work.

This involves opening my laptop, remembering there’s no power, and closing it again with resentment. Emails continue regardless.

“Hope you’re staying safe!” they write, before attaching tasks.

There is nothing quite like being asked to “push through” while the wind sounds like it’s trying to peel the building open and send it to another postcode.

The intercom buzzes.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.

No one answers. This is community.

Benji growls at every noise like he’s on an unpaid security detail.

Dan remains calm. A professional. He always is.

The Phone Call That Shouldn’t Exist

A man chooses the worst possible moment to reappear.

My phone rings.

Unknown number.

Nothing good ever comes from an unknown number during a national weather warning. It’s either a scam, a survey, or someone about to test my patience.

Busy doing absolutely nothing useful, so naturally, I answer. On loudspeaker.

“Hello?” I say.

There’s a pause. Breath. Then a voice… low, smooth, moisturised.

“Hi… Sue.”

Oh.

This is not HMRC.

“Do you remember me? From the Christmas party?” he asks.

Which Christmas party? Office? Friend? Neighbour? Someone’s kitchen? There were drinks. That’s all I’ve got.

“No,” I say. “I don’t.”

He laughs. That laugh men do when they think confidence will cover the gap where familiarity should be.

“Well, I just thought… with the snow being so bad… You might like some company.”

Dan buzzes

I look at my phone.

Benji growls.

Dan buzzes again. Loudly. Disapprovingly.

“Yes,” I say. “Nothing sexier than a natural disaster.”

“I’m just around the corner,” he continues. “We had chemistry.”

Did we? Or were there drinks and poor lighting, and a queue for the toilet?

“I don’t remember you,” I say. “Which should probably tell you something.”

My phone vibrates.

A text.

Still me 🙂 Roads are bad, but I’d risk it for you

Benji growls at the vibration.
Dan buzzes once, sharply.

“Good instincts,” I tell them both.

Sharon, Roger, and Complete Collapse

Sharon enters like a siren in full crisis mode.

The front door flies open.

“SUE,” Sharon shouts, bursting in covered in snow, panic, and regret, “I’VE GOT A SITUATION.”

Dan buzzes.
Benji barks like this is his moment.

“Sorry,” I say into the phone. “I have to go.”

Click.

Sharon, in sheer panic: “I forgot to charge Roger.”

No hello. Straight to trauma.

Roger, for clarity, is her vibrator. Not a vibrator. Roger. A name that suggests emotional history and possibly shared finances.

“The power’s gone at mine,” she says. “And if it doesn’t come back…”

She gestures vaguely downward.

“Yes,” I say. “The horror.”

She paces. She panics. She eyes my sockets like they’ve betrayed her personally.

I lift the power bank.

Sharon freezes.

“You have one.”

“Yes.”

“You charged it.”

“Yes.”

She stares at me like I’ve revealed witchcraft.

“You’re not normal,” she says.

“I’m prepared.”

While Roger charges, she nods at my phone.

“Was that a man?” she asks.

“No, “I say.

She narrows her eyes. “That was a man.”

“Technically, yes.”

“Was he fit?”

“I don’t know.”

“Would you have gone?”

“No.”

She looks disappointed. In me. In life.

My phone buzzes again.

Another text.

Maybe later?

Benji growls so hard the blanket shifts.

Dan buzzes in agreement.

“Even the household has voted,” I say.

Eventually, Sharon leaves, promising to return the power bank “soon”, which in Sharon-time means whenever she emotionally recovers.

The corridor noise fades, but the storm is still raging. The building settles into that strange, tense quiet that happens when everyone’s trapped but pretending they’re fine.

The flat settles. Benji curls up, exhausted from emotional labour.

Dan remains charged.

I delete the text.

The power will come back.
The snow will melt.
The government will act surprised.

Sharon will forget to charge Roger again.
Benji will forgive the weather eventually.

And me?

I’ll still be here. Dan will still be here buzzing his disapproval, and Benji will be my growling conscience.

Prepared. Obviously
Charged. Always
Unimpressed. Of course

Just in case.

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