… it’s the level of the water in our front yard we were worrying about this morning. There was rain last night and a steady soaking rain all this morning, but I didn’t really think it was that bad until we looked out of the kitchen window and noticed a brand new burn running directly towards our woodshed. The ground all around here is so sodden that any heavy rain now seems to result in mass run-off and blocked drains and in this case the ditch that runs alongside our cottage had overflown and was seeking a new route down to the sea. Not only that, but the road outside was flooded again and the cows further down the hill were doing a sterling impression of water buffalo as they waded through shoulder-high instant lakes.
Fortunately our landlady, who knows about these things, came out armed with a stick and a fork and we had fun finding and clearing out all the drains by the road. Or at least she and the other half did while I waded about in wellies acting as a human depth gaugue for the cars that were nervously hovering, unsure of whether to tackle the flood or not. The other half valiantly stuck his arm down the most blocked drain and with a great squooshing noise it unblocked and the water started draining like a bath emptying out through a plug hole. This, I think, would have been more satisfying had he not also grabbed a handful of nettles by mistake. It turns out soaking them in water for a couple of hours does nothing to lessen the sting.
Fortunately the rain has now stopped, the yard has drained, the wood is no soggier than it was before and we can go back to wondering about the level in the ford. Hmmm. I wonder what it has reached now?