Floods and fortune

As the rain poured incessantly down today - and it's still at it - I was reflecting again on the dire straits of the folk in other areas who are still suffering the floods and the horrible aftermath. We had our own minor drama today when Mr PB came home from practising the organ (!) and found the drainage channel under the kitchen window beginning to fill because the drain at the end was blocked with dead leaves and ... stuff. We used to have a border there, with a mature passion flower plant crawling over the back wall, and another border on the other side of the path where there's a drain to take away water from the roof - heaven knows why anyone ever thought that was a good idea. We do have a small flood still - my extra photo shows it through the rainy window - but unless something's very different it should drain away when the rain stops for a bit. 

My main photo was taken on one of the wettest walks I can remember. Having wonderful winter waterproofs (top and bottom both Paramo) I feel quite snug once I overcome my reluctance to go anywhere, and anywhere today was the closest to home in that we walked round the former reservoir and environs in the Bishop's Glen. This pool is always there, but is usually half the size and green and stagnant, rather than the rather appealing water feature it was today. But it probably won't get much bigger, unless a blockage occurs - a pipe running under the track carries the surplus to a mini-torrent which then cascades down to the main water course down the glen. 

This is what really works - a succession of small-bore (10cm) plastic pipes sunk under the track every time there's the hint of a watercourse off the hillside, leading down the steep sides of the gorge to the burn below. People have been busy unblocking the ditches and the pipe mouths, and the result is puddles but no flooding. Our soil here is thin, with rock not far beneath the surface - as in our own garden - and doesn't tend to hold water for long. 

That's enough hydraulic theory for one day. We saw two cormorants sitting on a rock in the reservoir - presumably more welcoming than the windswept firth this afternoon - and now I'm home, my coat is dripping on the wooden floor downstairs (shoulda put down a newspaper!), I've almost completed my 10,000 steps (I know - but it's my fetish) and Mr PB is starting on the curry. Another bout of ennui dealt with ...