Yesterday, I went to the windmill for my usual Friday shift. I took my camera along, as I was hoping to get some nice photos to show everyone, by posting a few on this blog. The skies were dull though, and the light flat and uninteresting. I left the camera in my bag, and got on with the routine of opening up. The wayward pigeon from the last windmill post was fortunately on the right side of the wire, so all went smoothly.
Fifteen minutes later I felt a few raindrops, so brought the benches back inside as there was no point leaving them out to get wet. As I turned to head back to the cafe, it began to rain heavily, soaking the path in seconds. It was just before 10 am. That rain continued unabated during the morning, and when the time arrived to head off home, it was still raining very heavily. Despite the schools being on holiday, we had not had a single visitor to the windmill. Very few people were going to brave such conditions, understandably.
Back home, it was time to take Ollie out. The rain was still bucketing down, and although it wasn’t very cold, it felt miserable. I trudged around under my umbrella, legs and shoulders soaked by the driving rain, feet cold and wet. I managed almost two hours, to be fair to Ollie and give him a decent walk. When we got home, I flung off my soaked coat and shorts, and needed two large towels to get Ollie even remotely dry. The gutters were unable to cope, and the side entrance to the house was awash with water.
During the evening, the rain just kept getting heavier, until the sound of it hitting the ground and windows became the soundtrack to our Friday evening. We could only open the windows a tiny bit, as water was immediately getting into the rooms. Once it was dark out, we could hear nothing but the rattling and pounding of the drops, as it just kept increasing in intensity.
I stayed up late, unwilling to retire to bed, just to listen to the constant noise.
It is almost 10 am on Saturday as I type this, and it has just stopped raining. Twenty-four hours of continuous downpours. Not mere showers, as there was no break, no water-free intermission, just relentless, torrential rain. The outside areas are soaked. Water, leaves, mud, and debris have been trodden in to a house that was cleaned thoroughly on Thursday. House-mats were unable to cope with the need to keep moving from house to shed, house to car, etc. And the outside mats are like sponges, littered with things blasted down from the trees.
Last Sunday, I wrote about a trip to Essex, in fine weather. It was a summer’s day, as a summer’s day should be. Since then, it has rained every day at some point, whether a light shower, or occasional persistent rain. This culminated in the deluge that arrived over East Anglia (and many other parts of the UK) yesterday. I write a lot about weather on this blog, particularly about rain. I have lived a fairly long life, but I cannot ever recall a time when there was such a merging of the seasons, or when rain was more or less a daily feature. When I see weather presenters on TV talking about how we need the rain, or listen incredulously as they talk about all the dry days we have just had, I want to slap the smug grins from their faces. It is one thing to write about all the rain we have had over the last three years, quite another to see and hear people denying its existence. I am tired of it.
It is beginning to have a real impact on my life, and my state of mind. Living in one season, that of rain followed by heavier rain, is taking its toll on me.
It is really getting me down.