We were woken this morning in the small hours by the sounds of running water: very soothing, if you happen to have gone to bed in a house with a babbling brook running beside it, less so if there isn’t normally a watercourse just outside your bedroom. It seems the Met Office weren’t mucking around with their amber warnings – the heavy rain had arrived and was busy flooding our yard and making inroads into the shed complex, although at least we had moved our stack of heatlogs off the floor this time around.
Come daylight, the flood waters had mostly subsided, and the weather had reverted to sunshine-and-showers-and-snow-and-sleet-and-back-to-sunshine-and-is-that-hail? on a brisk 20 minute rotation. The other half intrepidly headed off to Bigtown (in the car, he’s not that intrepid) and sent me a text saying ‘You could usefully go out and poke things with a stick’. Venturing out in my wellies, I saw that he was right: our road was flooded again. The coonsil’s drainage work does a sterling job of taking the water away from our drive, but the pipe downstream can’t handle the load so the water comes out of one drain and then (theoretically) back into the other, except the other had got clogged with leaves and crud, and the culvert on the other side was choked up too.
There’s really nothing more satisfying than the giant plughole effect you get when you start to empty out a whole road with nothing more than your bare hands and your trusty stick.