drowning, not waving

It's been raining for days. When it does this I get to know what it must be like living in a little castle or, perhaps, a moat-house. It appears that there's a broken land-drain atop the farmers field which leads down to Backroads Manor. This means that all the water rolls off his field and heads directly for us.

The last time his happened was in August when I got a call to say that I'd better get home in order to dig a trench in the garden!! When I arrived, the council had already delivered sandbags and it looked like the Somme. Unfortunately, it was too late for me to shout 'but we haven't had the results of the geo-phys' because half the neighbours were out hacking away at my lawn.

I suppose I should be grateful, as the water had already taken the garage and was threatening the front foor and all that lies beyond. It would've meant new carpets, and furniture, plus electricals... but hey, that's what insurance is for. Bastard, I've had a Sony TV since 1991 waiting for the bugger to die so's I can upgrade to plasma or a projector. I'd have got away with it too if it hadn't been for those pesky neighbours. (By the way, someone said the other day that after three years you have to pump plasma tellys full of gas. Can this be true? If so, do you think it'd be covered on my Three Star service with the fire and the central heating?)

Anyway, after we dug the trench I put the kettle on and we all went out and played football and listened to Paul McCartney.