It's raining it's pouring...

An odd question, perhaps, but might I ask where we stand at the moment, regarding rain? Can anyone tell me?

You see I have a theory:- we are so used to needing it that when it finds its way into our everyday conversation, we kind of sound like stuck record players .... oops- uhhhm - scratched CDs?

This struck me like a rainsoaked rabbit the other morning when I bumped into someone outside the bank (these days I tend to hang around outside - firstly because I hope that someone might drop a bit of money, and secondly there's that restraining order…)

(Its unfair, really, I have explained to the manager that my visiting his house at three thirty in the morning to request another extension on my overdraft was simply my idea of 'moving forward', but he just won't drop it - something about my singing scaring his wife and children - which is absolute rubbish because I KNOW I sound quite impressive after six or so beers.)

Anyway where was I? Oh yes, bumping into someone outside the bank - one of the few people who I don't owe money (he'd been away for a month) which made it a more pleasant experience... well it would have, if it hadn't been 'raining old maids with knopkieries' (so much more descriptive than 'cats and dogs'.)

(Incidentally, many of you may have read that 'raining cats and dogs' came from the old times when domestic animals had to sleep in amongst the thatching on the roof to keep warm. Apparently when it rained hard enough the thatch became slippery and they slid out and plopped down to the floor, hence anyone looking through the window would remark 'It's raining cats and dogs'. Now the old Afrikaans saying 'Dit reën ou meide met knopkieries' makes me think that perhaps, in bygone times, the 'early settler' men were courageous enough to send their mothers-in-law to sleep amongst the cats and dogs in the thatch, which, let's face it, would make for a far more entertaining thunderstorm.)

But I digress. Sorry. I tend to do that. It drives Mrs Ed mad, of course (though I've oft commented, under my breath of course, that it's not a very long drive) but I, personally, don't think digressing a serious problem - certainly not worth all the bruises on my arm .

Come to think of it, at least I'm not REgressing which would mean I'm going backwards. And if there was such a thing as 'UNgressing' which would be the appropriate word for TOTALLY changing the subject, then that would be Mrs Ed's thing.

Indeed I'm willing to bet my entire over-draft that she would be the unchallenged Queen of Ungress, year in year out. She has it perfected, especially when we're in one of those very rare arguments that I may be close to winning…
“But my darling love-dragon,” I will say, very calmly of course, “The horrendous smell in the kitchen IS your fault. You are the one who put the frozen chicken into the oven, STILL ON ITS POLYSTYRENE TRAY and left it on at 400 degrees… ALL DAY!”
“Yes,” she will scream in reply, “But when was the last time you bought me flowers?”

Anyway. Back to the rain. Be it old maids armed to the teeth with clubs or a canine/feline combo, on that particular day it was pouring, which is why we bumped into one another this man and I - because we could barely see three feet in front of us (I used feet instead of metres because he is quite a bit older than me). Of course we tried to exchange pleasantries, but the rain and the howling wind made conversation almost impossible.
“……….. on the rocks,' I caught, as we ducked into a doorway.
“Whiskey?” I answered, “What a splendid idea, thank you very much - that would be a perfect warmer-upper.”

Apparently this confused him somewhat. I realised why when I discovered that he had been talking about the Kiani Satu, which was still aground at the time.

Eventually we moved onto the embarrassed silence that happens when two men run out of conversation, or one of them is convinced that the other is about to ask for a loan.
“How about this weather?” he said.
“Yes isn't it appalling?” I answered.
And that's when he uttered that standard answer, before making a hasty exit. “We need it though, don't we?” he grunted dashing across the road before I could answer.
“Er... Yes, I suppose we do. Talking of needs……could I…..” but it was too late, he was already in his car and reversing out, doing everything possible to avoid eye contact.

So I stood there like a damp hamster would, if it was wet and had the habit of hanging around financial institutions. And that was when it hit me. Not the hamster. The rain talk. Why would we need it? It had been storming for six days. Ships were crashing for goodness sake. They had brought in a heavy duty waterpump to try and stop people mooring their boats on the road outside the school!

But somehow we always say “Phew! We need it” every time it rains. Do we? Need it I mean? Has someone checked with the farmers? They could well be standing around wondering how they are going to get Blossom the milk cow out of the mud, or whether they should choose the tractor or bass boat to harvest the apples?

I do realise I may be appearing somewhat selfish here, so please don't get me wrong. If we need the rain then I'm all for it ….let it pour and pour and pour again…

But. Not. In. My. Office. PLEASE!

Yes. Alas, alack, Our new premises suffers from Porous Roof, and it does make it VERY hard to concentrate. The constant drip drip drip ON MY HEAD is more torture than… than… than Mrs Ed singing (her version of) Bon Jovi's Bed of Roses over and over again. (Should I take this opportunity to apologise to my neighbours?)

Of course I have tried shifting my desk around, but every time the wind changes, so the leaks seem to move. It's as if they are following me.

The other evening I had to work late to get the paper out, and it was really bucketing down, inside and out! This left me no option but to take my life into my own hands, if only to save all our computer equipment… and my sanity. So, acutely aware of the danger (one slip on the wet corrugated iron might send her crashing through the roof on top of me!) I bravely sent Mrs Ed up there with a handbag full of putty to try and block the holes up. It was terrifying! Her footsteps on the uneven roof sheets combined with the flapping of her over-alls in the high winds were enough to drown out even the thunder.

I would love to report that she managed to block all the leaks, and we all lived happily ever after… but she didn't.

In fact the only hole she managed to close up was the one just under the nose of a truck driver who had stopped his eighteen wheeler on the road just down from our office. Apparently a huge bolt of lightening had flashed just as had driven past, and seeing the vision of a handbag-brandishing Mrs Ed seemingly hovering under an umbrella at single story level had been quite a religious experience for him.

Mesmerised, he climbed out his cab and stood in the shelter of our doorway, as if it were a holy shrine. Whilst Mrs Ed clambered down the ladder I tried to explain to him that she had been on the roof trying to fix the leaks brought on by the torrential rain.
“Oh, I see,” he eventually said, rather disappointed that it had not been Mary Poppins after all, “Still.... The rain - we need, it don't we.”

I suppose it was a bit careless of Mrs Ed, swinging her handbag round like that, especially as it was still half full of putty. Apparently lips do tend to bleed a lot, but I'm sure in a day or two the swelling will have dropped and the man will be able to speak normally. He was very nice about signing the bit of paper stating that it had all been a simple accident.

Mind you, with Mrs Ed still swinging her bag above her head…
He'd be mad if he didn't!