Being a meteorologist must be a difficult and demanding job.

One that isn’t likely to get any easier in the years to come, either.

Perhaps after a challenging shift of forecasting the weather and finding new ways to break the news to people as gently as possible, hardworking meteorologists like to do what the rest of us do - make some tea in their ’I heart John Kettley’ mug and slump in front of the telly.

If they do, I’m guessing a programme they don’t watch is The Avengers.

The super swinging sixties stylish spy series sprang to mind this week while I was sharing the weather trauma that everybody on the island experienced.

Two of the best remembered characters from The Avengers are called Emma Peel and Cathy Gale.

Any Avengers-watching meteorologist seeing that the latest storm had been formally named Emma and was heading towards Peel (taking in the rest of the island on the way), would surely have then insisted on referring to it as ’Cathy Gale’.

’Gale’ - get it?

Well, if they won’t do it, I thought, then I will.

The weather girls and boys may not be that hot on old TV shows, but their forecasting skills remain as sharp as ever. Cathy Gale arrived as predicted, hitting the island like the lead character in a groovy spy show karate-chopping a hoodlum.

In my living room I was feeling quite snug and some might say, quite smug.

I’d prepared for the descent of Mrs Gale.

I was stocked up on milk and Monster Munch.

The music was turned up a little louder than normal to muffle the occasional ominous thud of something unidentifiable bouncing off the roof.

The winter jumper had been dusted down and donned, to protect against the draughts that can find their way into older properties like mine.

It was quite cosy really.

Then I walked into the bedroom. By day this has lovely panoramic views, as it faces due east.

Oh. East. Where our gusty friend originated.

On this side of the building, Cathy Gale had found every nook and cranny to penetrate.

The not-as-young-as-it-was double glazing was not coping and a Siberian hoolie was making the curtains dance.

The lesson seems to be: respect the names meteorologist give to weather systems.

Don’t go around giving flippant, vintage TV-inspired nicknames to winter storms. For they have no sense of humour and will be avenged.