I wake up on Saturday morning to find a perfect storm is about to break – both literally and metaphorically.

Literally, because it has been right windy overnight. Where we live you can practically see the wind. You can see it gathering its strength right up on the moors, well beyond Keighley, like some kind of cartoon genie sucking in its breath.

Then it comes roaring along the countryside, gradually picking up ferocity until it is funnelled into our back garden by the surrounding buildings.

At some point in the night, the wind has picked up a piece of garden furntiture and, like a mardy toddler, thrown it at the fence.

Now, the fence is no spring chicken at the best of times. It can barely stand up at one point, needing to lean upon the shed and catch its breath. The bit where it is quite steady, though, is the bit where the wind threw the garden chair. The one sturdy fencepost snapped clean off, and my wife wakes me to tell me that the fence is now bowing perilously into next door’s garden.

I pledge to sort it the next day. First on Sunday morning, though, I take our son to his football match. As I slam the door, several bits of filler from around the door frame, which cracked in a temperature drop a few days earlier, clatter to the step.

I waste time carefully placing them back in their holes, like I’m doing a jigsaw puzzle, while my son hops about telling us we’re going to be late.

We are not late, but it’s a miracle that we’re on time. This is because on the way to football the exhaust falls off the car. I have to wind some parcel elastics under the car to hold it in place until we get there and get home again.

This is the perfect storm, the coming together of events that conspire to make me mad and cost us money. In one day the fence has blown down, the exhaust has dropped off and some fillery stuff has fallen out of the door. I don’t even know what this door filler stuff is called. It’s like putty but rock-hard.

I do my best to hammer some nails into the fence and prop it up with some bits of wood, knowing full well that the wind genie only needs to sneeze and it will come down again.

I know that I am going to have to go and deal with real men in handyman’s stores and purchase some kind of door-fillery stuff which I don’t even know the name of.

And the fence? Let’s not even go there. That’s going to cost actual money.

Don’t expect to see me this weekend. I’m planning to stay in bed. It’s safer and cheaper that way.