Still Raining - Scary

I never really intended to post another weather blog but it's been a bit of a day here. This morning .......
'I'm going out,' I said
'What time will you be back?'
'Should be home by about half twelveish at the latest.'
I had already prepared today's mid-day dinner yesterday so it was going to be Roast Beef Poppity Ping (thanks John) soon as I got back through the door.
Pulbuchan Brook which runs along side the road 500 metres down from our house was starting to fill up a bit but not full to the top so I thought it would be OK. Put my black wellies (or wollies as my grand daughter used to call them) in the boot of the Foccy and away. Didn't it rain! Did you have all that rain? I guess you did if you lived anywhere in Britain.

Half past twelve I turned the Mill Bank corner to find the brook had become a river and the road was somewhere underneath. I pulled into the lay by, retrieved black wollies and plodded the hundred metres or so towards the flooded. I waded about ten metres in, thinking that I could walk home the rest of the way up the bank. The current was quite a force and the tops of black wollies were rapidly getting submerged.  Time to about turn and take refuge back in the car. I rang Other Half to let him know where I was to stop him worrying. I rang three times - no answer. Then I began to worry what might have happened to him? Three hours later he rang me back.  He brought a metal hoe with him and managed to get across the top end of the road, into the adjoining field and along the top side of the hedge. I locked the car and he helped me climb through the thorn hedge into the field. We scrambled  along the hedge on higher ground to the narrowest part of the flooding. The current still looked scary.  I held on to him and was so glad to get to the house side, up the bank and own back door. We got home at four pm

St Christopher

We went down again tonight to see if we could bring the car up. No chance! The water had gone down a bit but still too deep. Quite frankly, I didn't give a toss about the car. Just grateful to escape a watery grave that might have been and get back in the warm. I'll probably feel differently in the morning,
How's your day been?

Wet, wet wet

Been hissing down all day here.
Said on the Welsh  News that it was the wettest drought on record or something like that. They weren't kidding!
What's the weather like where you are?

Going Home

'A trip into Shrewsbury to buy a few odds and ends.  Such a glorious day, a breath of Spring.  We decided to take a bit of time out and walk around the Dingle. It was so beautiful. Cherry blossom in all shades of pink, from deepest carmine to the palest whisper. Reddish bronze acers, Crown Imperials and Spring bulbs in all their splendour. As we sat on a wooden seat we watched deep sapphire coloured mallard ducks skimming expertly across the water. In a while we came up by the wrought iron gates near St Chad's, leading into the old church yard.

Here and there bluebells and tiny groundsel were making new life. We read of the lives chiselled on the lichen covered tablets, people mostly from the eighteen hundreds that had passed by here through life's journey. By the east wall, a huge yew tree had fallen foul of the Winter storms and had come under the tree surgeon's saw. But all around were tiny yew saplings lovingly planted - mighty trees in another couple of hundred years so. It seemed to me that the past, the present and future were so intricately bound in that moment.'

I wrote that in 2009 - three years ago. Went to Shrewsbury again today, but on my own - same time of year, same place, but like it does, everything had moved on.

The little yew saplings had grown somewhat and the tree that had been so badly damaged wasn't there any more. The stump with the names of the tree surgeons carved on it was now covered in ivy, their claim to fame well buried beneath the twisted vines.

See the circle of cobbles by the wooden seats. That's old, wonder what lies beneath it?

A grey squirrel appeared as if from nowhere. He paused for a moment, sat back on his hind legs rubbing his front paws (or whatever squirrels have)and making a clicking sound with his sharp little teeth,  trying to work out if I was friend or foe. In a blink of an eye he was up the top of the tree.

The magnolia bush seemed to light up against the grey pebble dash of the old church house.

I walked back through the wrought iron gates and across to the Dingle garden.

The spire of St Chad's behind me bright shining up there in the sunshine.

And everywhere buds

and blossom.

But no mallard drakes or ducks - not one. I guess they had something better to do.

Big Yellow Taxi

We've always grown our own vegetables ever since we moved down here. During the eighties I had  a vegetable stall in Shrewsbury market. To make transportation easier, my hubs (impulse) bought me a yellow Ford Transit he saw languishing on someone's forecourt as he was passing.  My daughter was in her teens at the time and loved to go to the  local youth club and  discos in the village hall. My yellow Tranny was the only means of getting from A to B and when I used to drive her to her nights out she'd hide under the dashboard board and bolt like a rabbit once all the others had gone inside.
'Mum, park round the corner, when you come to fetch me.'
Ever increasing petrol prices (what's new) and my sweet one decided to go on an economy purge by turning the fuel pipe thingy down half a notch. Come the day of the market, I thought, 'this van's a bit sluggish?' We'd be on the road by 6.30 am,  hardly anything about at that time in the morning so I got there eventually.  The homeward journey was something else. The traffic had built up a bit as it started bumping and grinding over the Welsh Bridge.  I just about managed to get the thing on the open road.. A lorry was stuck behind me. No matter how far I put my foot down on the accelerator it refused to go any faster than about fifteen miles per hour. And then just as he was about to overtake, it found a new lease of life and shot up to about  forty five. This carried on for seventeen miles until I found a lay by. I managed to pull in. As he went by, he leaned over, gave me a slow hand clap and mouthed something. I couldn't quite make out what he was trying to say but I think I got the gist of it.
It didn't look quite as bad as in that picture. That was taken when I unexpectedly met a boy racer around one of the blind corners.
I love my Focus. I chose that car myself.

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Every time I want to leave a comment on your blog posts I get an Error 503. Google fighting back against email and blog monitoring from above or is my PC just going toes up? Is anybody else having probs on this score?