SOLOMON'S TEMPLE

I got caught up in Hurricane Bertha today. Well, the thing the newspapers are calling What Was Hurricane Bertha, anyway. As a tropical storm spins around the Americas and out across the Atlantic, it loses its power. Normally, by the time it reaches these shores it's no more than a good old raincloud.

I was at the top of Solomon's Temple.

Alright, not the Solomon, and obviously not the Temple - this is a sort of a folly constructed in the 1890s by a wealthy landowner - a small round tower on a hill, two floors and a castellated rooftop, overlooking the valley. It was built so that some workers had something to do, and it was apparently dedicated to a local tenant farmer whose delightfully Victorian name was of course, Mr Solomon Mycock.

I climbed the narrow stone staircase. The wind whipped about my head and threatened my hat as I emerged between the turrets. What a view. The sunlight flicked across the hills, shadows of clouds rolled gently and silently over the green slopes. Buxton spread gloriously beneath me: the round dome of the University building and the beautiful ornate towers of the Opera House. The roofs were glistening with this morning's rain.

There wasn't anyone else around up there so I had a little sing. The wind roared in my ears and I clutched my hat to stop it from being blown off completely. I enjoy a high place. My voice was lost on the breeze.

"Let it rain, let it rain. Open the floodgates of heaven..."

It's so cliché. I chuckled to myself when I felt a few spots of rain on my face and my arms. Then, looking out to the South, I could see huge swirling black clouds and the unmistakable sweep of rain cascading beneath them. The furthest hills were gone, shrouded in mist and cloud and the sky was dark and electric. I unhooked my rucksack from my shoulders and fished out my raincoat.

Moments later, I was crouched on the staircase, listening to the wind pounding against the stones. The sky was flashing with light and the thunder cracked above me. Rain cascaded in from all directions. I could feel it, cold and hard like tiny stones blown sideways and thumping into me. I was drenched. The wind growled, so fierce and hard that it was difficult to tell it apart from the thunder. The rain poured in, loud, merciless and unstoppable, running down my waterproofs and straight into my wellies.

I guess a situation can go from exciting to terrifying quite quickly. It occurred to me, hunched over on a narrow stone staircase, that this little building was probably the highest, tallest object for miles around. If lightning was going to find a way to earth itself, it would probably be through this odd little shelter and possibly straight through me. I had no desire to be electrocuted today. Nonetheless, the sky was erupting with light and thunder was cracking above my head, ripping open the heavens with deafening intensity. I decided to make a run for it.

I leapt out of the stone entrance and pelted across the uneven, slippery glass. Cows watched me from under their trees. Over the stones I went, trying to find the path back through the woods to the car park from which I had walked. The wind screamed and the rain pummelled me, sideways javelins of pattering arrows, hammering into my shiny wet coat.

Let it rain. This was the dismal remains of Hurricane Bertha and she was growling her way across Derbyshire, stumbling me sideways along the grassy banks and roaring in my ears. The trees bent over, the leaves fluttered at the ends of their branches. I clutched the slippery wooden posts of the stile and threw myself over into the safety of the woods.

Thunder rumbled above. The trees moaned. I doubled over, hands on my knees, catching my breath, soaked and now exhausted. It would be a short walk back from here, I supposed and I set off down the path into the tree tunnel.

A pretty young blonde woman in a smart raincoat appeared round the corner. She smiled at me and I took the opportunity to smile back, water dripping from my hood and onto my nose. I was soaked.

"I think there may be a touch of rain on the way," I said, trying to be funny.

"Ya but it is already raining quite badly," she replied in a bewildered German voice. She seemed to think I was some sort of English idiot. After getting stuck in a folly in the middle of a hurricane while singing songs about rain, it would be tough to disagree, I thought.