With all the talk of 'the worst storm in living memory', not to mention the obsession with all things millennial (now there's a good idea), many of us have seemingly failed to notice the quiet incursion of the ECU into everyday Irish life.

Since stumbling into 1999, however, it's not only our bank and credit card statements that boldly announce the ECU equivalent. Now we're shown how we'll be ECU millionaires when we win the Lotto jackpot, and we can even raise our eyes in the supermarket and 'tut-tut' in despair at the Euro-cost of a bag of Kerrs Pinks. In one way it's great, because we're convinced, if only for a few seconds, that we have more money than we really have. On the other hand, we can often get a shock from the amount owing on the credit card bill.

Perhaps it's a sad reflection on my life that the introduction of the ECU is worthy of comment, but it's quiet here at this time of year, and bona fide excitement is in short supply. Sometimes even the simple task of finding somewhere to eat on a Monday evening is a Herculean labour as so many eateries have battened down the hatches to keep out the dark, not to mention potential customers.

Prompted into thinking that I should get out more often to stop dwelling on such mundane matters as currency exchange rates and closed restaurants, I forced myself away from the fire and went out for a walk in the cold February sunshine. And anyway, I wanted to see for myself the aftermath of 'the worst storm since 1961.' (Always cynical about such claims, I'm sure someone said the same thing last year.)

Michelin-man-like in coats and jumpers, I walked the roads around Moyard, dodging the surfeit of traffic attributable to the fact that it was Sunday AND Valentine's Day – obviously the perfect combination for a pleasant drive in the country. The temperature was clearly of little concern to these romantic types, as they zipped along the pothole-punctuated roads in cosily heated cars. I was glad to be moving at a reasonable pace to combat the chill, and even gladder to turn onto the road that leads towards Ballynakill Lough, past the source of the freshest, sweetest water imaginable. Immediately the traffic all but died off, and the quiet of the countryside as it lazily stretched itself awake into greenness made me happy to be out in the open.

My storm-induced cynicism soon dissipated, it was genuinely hard to avoid the damage - seemingly indestructible trees lay defenceless among bedraggled hedges and broken fences, and unoccupied houses looked even more forlorn than usual with their broken windows and missing slates.

With the noise of a chainsaw kicking into life to convert one of those fallen trees to fuel, I turned to face Na Beanna Beola. On my way home I felt safe in the knowledge that when the day came for us to actually have ECU notes and coins in our pockets, we would still be claiming that we'd just been through 'the worst storm in living memory.' (25/2)

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