So, cleverly, DH chooses the weekend of a flash flood to go away to his aikido camp. It is noon, Saturday, and we have had 46mm of rain since 8am. The brook is the highest it has ever been, licking the sides of the bridge. The pump is a foot above water, and I am so hoping it doesn’t get submerged. DH had erected a high platform, onto which he has bolted the pump. [We did this because in previous years it has been on the ground, and twice now it has been submerged and ruined and we are sick of going back to the local mechanic each year and buying a new pump. He must think DH is a complete goose. ‘Those city folk move down to the country and haven’t a clue’- that sort of thing.]
The whole pump contrivance is now almost (my) waist deep in water. Cold water. Swiftly running water. I tried to take the wheelbarrow down there, in case I could remove the heavy article and take it back up the hill to safety in that handy wheeled contraption. But the wheelbarrow almost washed away and I had to give up.
Looked like the water was going down there for a while, the rain has stopped and the level remained static for a few hours. However I just looked out and unfortunately it is now over the bridge. Our neighbour has promised to come and rescue our pump if the water starts going back up again. Might be time to make the call. Shit.
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