I’ve just spent a wonderful week in the "Nation’s Oldest City", St. Augustine, Florida. My mornings have been spent basking on the beach or bobbing in the surf, while my afternoons have been spent gorging on French pastries, wandering down cobblestone streets, gaping at alligators and traipsing around Spanish forts, and my evenings have been spent gorging on more seafood and sitting on the porch enjoying the balmy breezes off the Atlantic.

Those balmy breezes are about to change into something much more sinister, however: as I type this, hurricane Frances is making her slow but steady way to Florida. In an incredible bit of misfortune, it looks like the southeastern United States is about to get pummeled by its second massive hurricane in just a few weeks - only this time, I’m not reading about it from afar, I’m sitting right in its path, and it’s very probable that I won’t be flying back to England on Monday after all.

It’s still a bit uncertain what exactly is going to happen - the storm could veer off on a different path, or it could make landfall and weaken significantly, or it could hit us directly - but in any case, tomorrow is going to be spent boarding up the house, moving valuables out of the path of potential flooding, packing stuff up and generally getting ready for any eventuality (like evacuation, which appears to be a very real possibility at the moment). We’ve already stocked up on water, candles, flashlights and batteries - as well as books, playing cards, chips and dips, and anything else to make the time we might have to spend weathering the hurricane as pleasant as possible. Other than that, there’s not a whole lot we can do besides sit and wait to see what happens.

It’s quite odd to experience such a slow-burning (potential) disaster. It’s odd to know so far in advance that something big and bad is coming, it’s odd to be making evacuation plans while sunbathing on the beach or enjoying a fine dinner. It all feels very unreal, and it’s only when I watch the weather reports and see the projections for the hurricane’s path that it hits home and I realize that this could be very, very bad. I’m hoping it won’t be - I’m hoping that all we get is a bit of wind and rain, and some impressive but unthreatening waves - but I have to admit that as the hours pass and Frances continues on her inexorable path in our direction, I’m starting to feel more than a little nervous.