I’ve a sort of happiness develops when it rains lots. The satisfaction of being indoors as it launches down is pleasant to my mind like little else. And reading Hauling My Carcass a while ago, complete with wetness, added to today’s satisfaction. Cheers, HMC!
At 8 o’clock I was beginning to regret not going out yesterday as a deluge of hail covered the back garden and again filled the rain guage, though, leading me to wonder how much more the surrounding fields could take before the bottom of the village flooded. And wonder if the new house is leaking, what with 6 missing bonnet hip tiles and little guttering. I’m beginning to get worried about it and am desperate to get in and stop any damage becoming serious. Still, it may be groundless worry, so i’ll not dwell on it.
My field pondering came to a close at 9.30, however, when I set out in pleasant sunshine in the village direction to see my favourite fields once more. Only very few fields did I see. Just lots of water. The small streams had, at last, swelled over their banks and, in patches, across the roads.
Thankfully the main road to Frittenden wasn’t cut off (it was over the bottom of my mountainbike forks there 4 years ago – about 13 inches over the road!), so my route took me towards Waterman Quarter, as so many times in the past. Until I turned left over the railway bridge, things were lovely. Different views of familiar countryside. Splendid.
Then I saw a large puddle. Then a little bit of water running over the road from one field to another. Not too much. I thought. Then I stepped into it, the flow instantly engulfed the entire depth of my shoe and thus, on subsequent steps, both feet were drowned.
Balls. Properly warmed up top half, properly full trainers with cold river water and only just over a mile in to a 6 miler.
Ah, well, I thought, press on. So, over the next couple of minutes, comedy squelching and water spray from squeezed trainer insole and socks ensued until temperature levelled off and it became normal to have damp feet. The run was nice, if shortened by a third road-stream crossing thing (the second failed to flood my shoes) at just under a tenth short of 6 miles that I didn’t fancy forging twice in about a minute, so didn’t. Just turned for home.
Only to find that the morning deluge was still filtering into the stream. That, or the tide was up where the river flows into it downstream, since the wet foot forge was now about 6 feet longer and correspondingly deeper than first time. Still, with only a mile to run after it, I didn’t really mind. Even if the squelch did seem more comedic second time around.
So, the village runs are running out of time, if not ability to offer something different each outing. Their variety is still the nicest thing ever but i’m desperate to move now. Hopefully less than two weeks to go. Fingers crossed.