When Hurricane Nate swept past Bermuda last week, bringing only a little rain and a bit of wind, I have to admit I was disappointed.

I'd been egging it on since it was a mere tropical storm swirling to our south. Dissatisfied by the prediction that it would probably only be a category one hurricane, I kept checking the National Hurricane Centre's wind charts in the hope that it might grow stronger.

At one point there was a 70 percent chance that the storm would be a hurricane at around the time it passed near Bermuda. The odds were 35 percent of a category one, 20 percent of a category two, ten percent of a category three, and five percent of a category 4 or higher. "So the chances of it being a category one hurricane are actually the same as it being a stronger one!" I enthused, jumping up and down and rubbing my hands.

I followed Nate's predicted track with as much zeal. When the Bermuda Weather Service announced that the storm was expected to pass within four miles of the Island, I rushed to tell as many people as I could, noting with barely-restrained glee that it looked like it might be a slow-moving hurricane too, with potential for destruction greater than its wind speeds might suggest.

By now you're probably thinking that I'm one of those people who rush to South Shore to watch the surf as a hurricane draws near. But I'm not. Quite the opposite, in fact. As soon as I heard Nate had us in its sights I was rushing down to the grocery store to buy as many tins of food and bottles of water as I could lay my hands on, much to my wife's amusement. She has what, to me, seems like an unnaturally cavalier attitude to hurricanes, someone who would probably describe a close encounter with a slow-moving category five monster as "exciting", while I'd be hiding under the bed. Every time a hurricane comes our way I'm the one trying to talk her out of a drive to South Shore.

Fact is, hurricanes make me nervous. I'd never experienced one until Hurricane Fabian two years ago. Even though Bermuda is probably the safest place in the world to have to face one, I can't forget what happened to St. George's Prep School during Fabian. Even if your roof or shutters don't blow off, all it would take is one well-placed tornado to reduce your house to rubble.

There's the prospect of spending hours mopping up the rain running down the walls, having been propelled through shutters and windows by the ferocity of the wind. There's the loss of electricity and water, together with the uncertainty of not knowing how long it will be before they're restored. And of course there's the cleaning up afterwards. It's all rather tiresome.

And yet, as each forecast took the predicted track of Hurricane Nate further and further away from us, I found myself dismayed. It wasn't just that I saw the prospect of a few days off work receding into the distance. Some twisted part of me was actively looking forward to having a hurricane score a direct hit on us. After all, it would be exciting. Would the Causeway be destroyed again? Would it rip more tarmac off South Road than Fabian did? Would Front Street be levelled by a tornado? Even though most of me would be hoping that none of these things happened, deep down a little part of me would be hoping that they would. And I don't think I'd be the only one.

I think it's the same contradiction that leads us to hope that we never witness a car crash, but then causes us to slow down for a good look as we drive past one. Or that during 9/11 was responsible for the awful thrill that we felt when we learned that there was not one plane but four as we watched the twin towers come crashing down. We felt it during the Asian tsunami as we watched the death toll rise to unbelievable levels. And we felt it again earlier this month as we watched Hurricane Katrina destroy New Orleans. Our shock at the nature of the tragedy is suffused with awe at its scale.

It's not schadenfreude. Such disasters leave us genuinely upset. We feel real sympathy for the victims and take no pleasure in their suffering. But we're simultaneously transfixed by the scale of the event, excited by its uncommon nature. It shakes up the rhythm of our everyday lives and gives us something out of the ordinary to talk about.

This year's hurricane season isn't over yet. Indeed, it's probably just at its peak. Nate may have missed us, but there'll be other storms, one of which might provide us with a bit of excitement. That's something to look forward to.Or worry about. I'm not really sure.

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