GoldCoast, GulfCoast, GolfCoast… GaleCoast, the former three are genuine by-lines, marketing squeaks from their relevant tourist offices, the latter could be true, only it would be too poignant. In point of fact the next seaside’s anointment is ‘the EmeraldCoast’. Which could be a recognition of the pervasive presence of the Irish pub and the black stout’s ability to withstand the quaffing attacks from craft-beer, or is it going to rain?

Emerald = Green = Water = Wet.

All the indicators would appear to be in place, the portents are lined out along our route: Bent Palm Motel, Gulf Winds Realty, Splash Condominiums, even the ‘gentle cleansing face and body bar’, aka soap, is called ‘Rain Breeze’.

One of the realities of hyper-continental weather prediction is; if the ‘Weather Channel’ says on Wednesday that the storm will hit at lunchtime on Sunday, Sunday lunchtime is when it will hit. It does and we’ve already retreated to another prophetically named motel called ‘Aqua Vista’.

Severe weather warnings have been posted in the park’s restrooms, we’ve been queried as to our intentions, helpful friends are posting footage of tornado trashed communities and then I get a message on my ‘phone. True to its name, we do get a view of the water from the motel…. not the sea, which is barely visible between two intervening gables, but cascades of gutter spouts, sheets of shattered spray, thrashing palm fronds, stop signs twisting, shop signs pulsating, cladding stripping from walls, the junction box atop the pole quivers, bangs – and the lights go out.

Quarter of an hour later and the sun has come back, all is innocent; another quarter hour and the streets are wind-swept dry. Did we just have a storm?

The observance of those wayside prognosticators might have been light hearted; this storm was not. These were long-line tornadoes, ones that touch down and stay down, snapping trees, shredding houses, shattering lives. A death toll of sixteen people.