I think I may have mentioned to you my aversion to rain. This is due at least in part to my upbringing. When you’re born and raised somewhere it rains about 260 days of the year, the attractions of precipitation tend to lose their shine a bit, though some of my best teen years were spent hiking around the Pennines in the pissing rain with my good mate Andy. It used to be windy as well as wet.

Hence you can safely assume that I won’t be venturing to Wayne Presby’s planned enterprise in New Hampshire. For some reason this wackjob has applied for permission to build a hotel at the top of Mount Washington. It’s not much of a mount to be honest, more of a big hill, a stripling compared to the Rockies at a mere 6300’.

Where it gets interesting, and germane to my earlier paragraphs, is that Mt Washington stands at the confluence of three huge storm tracks, and the weather is predictably and permanently crap.

The highest windspeed ever recorded anywhere there was 231 mph back in 1934. That’s pretty breezy, and was a world record for about 60 years till knocked off the top slot by a freak 1996 gust on an island off Australia that registered 253 mph, which would certainly ruffle Donald Trump’s barnet somewhat. When Hurricane Sandy hit New Jersey, the winds hit their peak on Mt Washington at 140 odd mph, and that was 400 miles from landfall.

Apparently ten days of the year there will be guts of over 100 mph, and the summit is cloud covered for about 60% of the time.

Hikers and environmentalists have got up a petition to stop the development, but the weird thing is that there was a hotel on the summit until 1967, and that had replaced one that was built in the 1890s and then burnt down; apparently 90 rooms were in demand then.

One other thing. Let alone being a guest, would you like to be a construction worker? Not if you’ve ever read JG Ballard’s The Wind From Nowhere you wouldn’t.