The whole complexion of the weekend changed with a rumble, a flicker of light and an ear-splitting crash yesterday afternoon. The dark clouds that have been rolling past for the past several days decided to call time on us.
The deluge fell so fast we just gazed out in wonder. The gutters surrounding the house began overflowing within the first few seconds, and then gave up - pouring a heavy curtain of water around the house. The car suddenly found itself sat in several inches of water in a brand new pond, with a river forming in the street at the end of the drive. Our suspect flat roof revealed it’s weakness, and water began pouring - yes, pouring - into the kitchen. With unusual speed of thought I ran the length of the house and threw the circuit breakers.
After subjecting us to perhaps ten minutes of fury, somebody up in the sky turned the tap back off, and peace slowly returned to our world once more - although punctuated with a strange rhythm of drips and trickles as the gutters groaned their contents onto the various window cills around the house. In the distance we started to hear sirens, and wondered about the accidents that must have happened during the downpour.
As befits “being British” we just accepted the nightmare in the kitchen, placed buckets and bowls to catch the water, and carried on without complaint.
This morning finds a drab, grey world outside. Sitting in the warmth of the study, holed up with a cup of tea and “my corner of the internet”, it’s an almost comforting scene. Of course, I’m putting off continuing with my work for a while, but sometimes I feel if I don’t record my thoughts and happenings somewhere, I’ll go just a little bit mad, and my entire summer will be forgotten. It will pass with no record that it ever happened.
The laptop sits across the desk from me like a grim reaper, contently waiting. Waiting for me to pour more of my life into it.