Floods

Well, not quite. But it did pour down - like rain in Africa! - most of last night, and this morning the river Torridge was flooded, up and nearly over the road at the little bridge at the bottom of the hill.

Memories of two years ago. We moved here in late November 2012, when there had already been a huge amount of rain in the area. Exhausted from the move we spent an unbelievably dark, moonless night (with no ambient light it was so dark we couldn’t find the light switch in our new bedroom!) and were wakened early the next morning by an urgent call from the landlord to say the river had flooded the bottom pasture.

Sheep were swimming! Being swept downstream! All hands were needed.

We hurried out, flapping around uselessly, with no proper clothing and no proper footwear. We hadn’t a pair of wellies between us! Fortunately, the landlord and the farmer who leases the pasture had already rescued all the sheep. They don’t just have wellies, of course, they all have waders. Later on we all gathered over a hot cup of tea and congratulated ourselves that none of the flock had been lost, everyone kindly pretending that we’d been of some use.

The flood waters in this picture from 2012 cover the entire bottom pasture where the sheep were floundering about trying to swim. It hasn’t come that high this season - yet. The actual course of the river is beyond that second line of trees.

* An update on the creature.... I’m sorry to announce that the war has finally been lost.

Despite my best efforts, Febreze, slates, bricks and all, two new holes were burrowed into the bin. Conceding defeat on that skirmish, I closed the visible, front one, and left the back one open and thought - let her get on with it, as long as she doesn’t make a nuisance of herself. But no, it’s never enough, she had to re-dig the front burrow, and the landlord spotted it this morning. Hardly surprising, with straggly bits of cauliflower, clementine and banana skins, potato peelings and pumpkin seeds scattered in an untidy mess in front of the bin.

Well, of course, it is not a mouse, or a vole or any other sweet little creature. It is a RAT. Or, worse still, RATS. Hands on hips, head wagging from side to side, he told me this with the grim satisfaction of one who has finally been proven right. They’re after the food waste, he says. I told you so, he says. Well, considering how much food was left lying around I don’t think they (the RATS) were interested in eating them. I’m still convinced she (the mouse) simply wants a snug nest. But there’s no point in arguing. I humbly agree not to put any more food waste in the compost.