Just to finish on the rain / damp / mud theme: Nowadays I abandon the car at the point where it turns 90 degrees in the mud and walk the rest of the way home. While doing that this evening I noticed three things. First, I have a hole in my right boot – didn’t notice that between April and September when I seemed to be living in a hot, dry country. Secondly, there are large paw prints in the mud inside the fenced property; obviously I fervently hoped they belonged to a lynx but after close analysis have to conclude they belong to a neighbouring labrador. And thirdly, I have a river, not a post-deluge drain-off, but a bona fide river complete with a rock riverbed, a series of small waterfalls and pools, and a mid-level rippling roar. There are frogs are croaking on the banks.
I’m fairly sure all this wasn’t there yesterday. The new river forms a clear lagoon, a self-prescribed knee-deep moat, where the gate should be, before splashing off down through the neighbouring fields to surprise someone else.
Where it starts, I’m not sure, but the chances are it might be in that evergreen lush patch. Perhaps there is a spring; I shall get myself a forked stick and go dowsing after I look up the instructions online, although you hardly need a stick – you only have to look through the window to see water.
The water in the house comes from a well which taps into some dreadful sounding underground lake. I don’t winch it up in a pail, but have a complicated Heath Robinson type system of well pumps and pressure pumps and pipes which suck it up 100 metres and across a field into a water deposit, then on through a hi-tech decalcifying machine with a bleeping electronic display which means nothing to me, and then finally through rather nice taps.
Currently though, most of the water coming into the house comes via the wide gaps under the doors, with quite a bit more coming through the leaking roof, and some just soaking through the bathroom wall.
The jocular Ivan came to assess the situation on Thursday, and chipped away at something, but it seems nothing much can be done until it stops raining, and the chances of that happening anytime soon are slim. Never mind. The rainwater tastes better than the well water and there’s a seemingly unlimited supply, so I’ve been collecting it in buckets and pans (and actually, also the wheelbarrow), and putting on my boots to go out in the rain every time I need to fill the kettle. Modern life.
Published a little after the events.