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November 24, 2009
After the flood
I'm told that statistically, if you set off on your run at the same time each day, you will only run in the rain six times a year.
Well, to any powers-that-be who are listening, I have fulfilled my annual quota, and that's just since this morning.
When I set out yesterday, it was only spitting. (Or was that my neighbours?) Half an hour in though, it was cats and dogs and I returned home an hour later deeply soaked. My small radiator was immediately called into surprised action, all running clothes placed either on it or near it, as i spent the day writing.
By 2.30pm, the clothes were beginning to dry out, and there was even blue sky outside, so I decided on a walk down to the ducks in the local rec.
As I left, it was spitting again, but with the blue still on the horizon, I carried on. Unwise. Ten minutes later, down by the water, the cloud darkened in an instant, and the most savage rain storm followed, whipped by a terrrible wind. The ducks were all over the place, as defenceless against the elements, I hunched myself by the nearest tree.
It was a strong tree, and kind, but creaked and groaned in the lashing, as its smaller branches were ripped, wrenched, spun and thrown into the water, causing more panic among the ducks. The tree did its best as a guardian, my face pressed to its dripping bark, but with no leaves to umbrella, my re-soaking was inevitable, as I sought new places to put my mobile phone.
On my dripping return home, the old man who's always by the gate said:'Good day for the ducks!'
But actually, it wasn't; it was a shit day for the ducks.I saw them, and they terrified as the wind whipped the water into a frenzy, and the tree debris flew towards them through the air. And I wasn't over the moon myself. Because I had to take all my running things off the radiator, and replace them with all my newly soaking clothes.
In between however, I produced alot of good copy, so it was all write in the end.
And of course unlike those in Cumbria, I actually had a home to return to. Robert Frost said that home is the place that when you have to go there, they have to let you in.
But after the flood, there's no one there to answer the door. Just the cold and killing water.
Posted by Mr Bojangles at November 24, 2009 08:41 AM