I feel a bit of a fool. Our house has never, to my knowledge, been flooded. It sits on a hill that runs in places at a 45 degree angle down to the town. Nevertheless I’ve spent the last hour taking precious things off bottom shelves and shoving them into higher shelves and now everything is an absolute mess.
I did it because I remember that time when we were all sat peacefully along the bar in the Jenny, vaguely holding pints, waiting for the storm to pass. The grey sky went yellow, as if entirely made of tired lightning, stretched thin. We all felt a bit weird. The rain started sheeting down. The back door flew open. A mass of water hurtled down the stairs, through the bar and out the front door — just taking the shortest route down the hill.
It was gone in a couple of minutes but the state of that pub — they’ve never re-carpeted it since. You remember that sort of thing.
Maybe everyone should take things off the bottom shelves, because they didn’t say it would be here or there, they said it could be anywhere and yes, our lovely sloping-up-the-hill garden has pretty much turned to concrete and the little terrace-walls on three sides of the patio outside the back door do give it the look of an empty swimming pool waiting for the water to arrive…
Will let you know — go check if you have precious things on bottom shelves, do.
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