It's been raining for a while up here on Walton's Mountain. It's been raining so long that the fields have flooded and a lake has developed. A lake of such proportions that canoes, fishing boats, and yes even maybe a yacht wouldn't be out of place.
While it looked like there was An Awful Lot Of Water out there, it didn't really hit home till I tried to pop out the back door to the bin in the morning. I stepped lightly (as always) into a splashy 6 inch deep paddling situation that was somewhat unexpected and not at all good for my indoor Uggs.
The water was rising and the door itself was only 2 inches above the present water line.
Did I panic?
I scuttled about in the yard gathering up anything I could in the way of compost sacks, grass seed (sealed in plastic sacks of course, not quite daft enough to be sewing grass seed willy nilly in moment of flooding crisis), feed bags etc. Anything I could wheel over in the wheelbarrow and dump at the back door to try to build some sort of barrier between me and the incoming tide.
I phone the council as the road outside has completely flooded due to the drainage ditches and pipes underneith from fields all just bursting and causing mayhem.
'We'll send a man right away' they assured me.
Back to the dam building.
I do the only obvious thing really. I text a friend.
"Where can I get sandbags?" this seems like a sensible question in the circumstances.
"Are you under attack?" Well, you have to agree, it is a sensible answer. It was such a good answer that I laughed, stress fled and I just laughed. I looked out at the water, I'd done all I could, the rain started to ease just a wee, wee bit, so I just sat there and laughed.
Ten minutes later the cavelry arrived in the form of a big truck and two lads with a spade.
Alas one lad had a hole in his welly so wasn't prepared to plunge in to the wetlands in quite the enthusiastic and wholehearted manner one would have hoped, the other chap got down to some serious ditch digging. I got my own spade and minced about a bit in a purely decorative and possibly comedy manner.
Fence panels removed, channels dug, gravel piled and a horrible ammount of mud later, the waters receded from the back door.
"You'll be needing sandbags for this lot" said the head digger. Obviously a man with a grasp of the situation. He pointed out my pathetic attempts at dam building based on compost et al. "That'd do no good at all dear, you're needing sandbags". Yes actually even I knew I needed sandbags as evidenced by text to pal earlier in morning. Great, sandbags "Do you have any with you?" I ask, afterall this could be an obvious question as men coming to flood area just might come prepared with more than one spade between them in their great big yellow truck. "Naw, dear have to go back to Kilmarnock and get some".
Two hours later they are back with the ellusive sandbags. The rain stops and a very watery sunshine filters through. My garden is still under water and the fields a lake far and wide. HQ survived with inches to spare, I survived, the house survived. Okay some of the herb garden has been washed away and the cats are in high dudgeon at this hidious swimming pool feature that I seem to have put in over night.
Steaming mug of chamomile tea in hand, I survey the damage. Ho hum, quite a day. There was me thinking it would be a boring old Monday and it turns into action packed adventure on a somewhat homely scale.
10pm and Berti screaches at the door wanting in. I open the back door and step out into the night to see where he's got to, alas I hadn't removed all those bloody compost bags and I fall flat on my face in an undignified (who me?) heap in my pjs. I climb back over the makeshift barrier and stagger into the house.
Make note to remember to remove the barricade in the morning before I do myself any more damage. Might also buy a canoe.