TO look through the window, one might have thought all was normal. Skies were blue, the ground dry as a bone, the rabbit hutch in its usual place.

But step outside, and the truth became apparent. The Met Office had warned of gusts of up to 80mph, and the air was alive with the whoops and smacks that confirmed Storm Darragh was in town. The trampoline strained, as if it might take flight any minute. I would learn the hard way the reason why they told us to stay at home.

I headed downtown with Daughter, for a date with Cornwall Family History Society in Lower Lemon Street. The Christmas market organisers had made the difficult decision to cancel the event on what promised to be one of its busiest days. “Even if we turned out, the chances are we’d have no custom if everyone else stayed at home,” said one stallholder.

In fact, there were plenty of people in town, but as we crossed Boscawen Street in the teeth of Darragh, I couldn’t help feeling the market guys had made the correct choice. The wooden huts might have withstood the force, but not the open-air stalls.

Lunchtime, and we headed to Duke Street for three medium steak pasties. As we crossed the road with our precious load, we heard a bang right behind us. A slate had been blown off a nearby building and smashed in the middle of the road, right where we’d been standing seconds earlier. As an eye-witness commented: “That was close.”

Having eaten with the in-laws, I headed up Bodmin Road to crack on with some work. As I neared the park, I heard an almighty groan as a tree fell to its doom in Tremorvah playing field. Having checked there was no one underneath it, I called the Other Half (OH) to warn him not to drive up the hill and get stuck in already mounting traffic.

I was halted by the frantic banging on a car window. The inhabitants were pointing at a live power line on the ground, exactly where I was heading. Once again, I had defeated death, this time in a fashion that would earn me the Darwin award for utter stupidity, and will make me think twice before texting while walking in future. It’s the stuff that headlines are made of, believe me.

I thanked my rescuers profusely, then attempted to pay it forward by warning a family group with small children. They seemed blithely unconcerned and went skipping off to their doom.

When OH and Daughter did make it home, it was the long way round due to the National Grid operatives roping off the scene due to mortal danger. Traffic was building up, as vehicles diverted from Tregolls Road were diverted from their diversion.

Our electricity went on and off for a while, taking the Wifi with it. Apparently, this is the main problem with modern communications – broadband is so power dependent that while it might not be an issue to lose your landline, a power outage can leave you in trouble.

Daughter had a bath, followed by a major meltdown when she realised she couldn’t dry her hair ahead of the panto, resulting in the utmost sartorial shame. I pointed out that Darragh would blowdry her barnet in a couple of minutes, and isn’t the windswept look currently in fashion?

The cordon still in place, we walked to the Hall For Cornwall via Moresk Road, snaking our way through stationary traffic as vehicles of all sizes faced off with each other in a road that’s challenging at the best of times.

I felt for the panto cast, who had to work pretty hard to get the audience going. I suspect that quite a few of us had battled serious elements to be there, and needed a bit of cooling-down time.

Afterwards, we learned of escaping Christmas baubles bouncing around Newham Road in a scene that sounded like it would have been at home in a festive episode of The Prisoner, or perhaps madcap comedy The Goodies (check it out online, millennials).

Social media went looking for someone to blame. Fingers were pointed at the council (always a popular scapegoat) for not doing enough in the first place, followed by the numpties who had driven into town despite all the warnings.

But surely it’s not the fault of a single individual or organisation, more a collective responsibility for the climate change that’s causing an increasing number of violent weather systems like Darragh?

We’ve had a few named storms lately, and there was something different about Darragh – it was a wolf in sheep’s clothing. I feel very thankful to still be here, and will do my best to go about my business more mindfully - and will think long and hard about venturing out in such weather in future.