Back in the 1970s (and yes I do remember some of it) there was a sweetly warbling chap from the sunshine of Greece called Demis Roussos who was, at that time, right on top of his game.
He had emerged from a pop/rock group called Aphrodite's Child, which also featured the equally talented Vangelis.
In the late 60s they had a fine hit called Rain and Tears which was covered by Kiwi band The High Revving Tongues in 1969.
So anyway, dear old Demis went and put out a solo single which, while beautifully produced and sung, annoys me to the point of distraction ... or at least to leaving the room. It is called My Friend the Wind.
Now I am not going to go all Benny Hill or Frankie Howerd here and start unleashing a gale force torrent of innuendo about "wind".
Because the meteorological stuff is uncomfortable enough.
During the past four or five days it has emerged from the westerly quarter, as it is often wont to do at this stage of the year we refer to as the equinox.
Basically, the equinox is when the daylight hours match the night-time hours. Equal ... ... believe it or not.
And traditionally, it is the time of the season when the winds rise, and cause the Hawke's Bay populace to go completely mad.
It may be your friend, but I can assure you Demis, it is not mine.
The one phrase I have heard repeatedly since Tuesday is "it's driving me mad".
The other oft-repeated phrase is one I can't repeat here. I heard a broom-wielding supermarket employee roll it out on Thursday as he swept dust and debris from the otherwise sparkling entranceway for the third time that day.
I saw a chap hopelessly try to retrieve his cap on the Marine Parade walkway early yesterday morning. And as I drove by the Hawke's Bay Showgrounds I saw one couple hammering in what appeared to be additional stakes for their wildly rippling tent.
The night before I had gone for a walk. It took 20 minutes to walk toward the east, and 35 to walk the return journey into Demis' best mate.
Our granddaughter, not yet 3, is learning already about this annual meteorological month of madness.
At home on Thursday she was heard calling out "you naughty wind" as something blew away from her ... again.
"I'm telling the wind off," she declared with a face like thunder.
But at the end of the day (as we pick up washing, branches and brochures and wipe the dust from our eyes) this is, traditionally, normal.
Remember last year when the westerly winds failed to emerge with such venom during the spring? We had a sour summer.
So while maddening and disturbing, could these angry winds perhaps be the portent of a return to a traditional long, hot Hawke's Bay summer.
Well you have to cling on to something don't you ... otherwise you'd go mad.