I think we’ve had enough. When I last posted – three days ago – we’d already had a week of rain. It’s barely stopped since. During the night, we can hear dull thudding as the roof tiles take another sodden pounding. We get up in the morning, raise the shutters, and immediately the rain batters the windows. Going for the breakfast loaf, usually a good way to begin the day, seems unattractive. We make a comforting pan of porridge instead. And so the day wears on. We go out when we have to, but there’s no pleasure to be had in scurrying down the street, heads down, coats spattered by any passing car. And I don’t know when we’ll ever have a country walk again. The fields are waterlogged, the paths sticky and slippery with thick deep mud.
This was the River Touyre this morning at 9 o’clock. In summer it’s a mere stream, idly meandering over the pebbles and stones which line its route. In spring and autumn it’s hardly any deeper, but we’ll spend languid moments watching the trout as they glide serenely in the clear water , constantly on the look out for their next snack.
Today the water was brown, angry, tearing rapidly over the stones which we could hear clattering beneath. It had risen about three feet, covering the grassy banks and invading the garden of the hens who live opposite. They cowered indignantly beside their huts, unwilling to get their feet wet or risk being swept away.
Snow is forecast tomorrow….