The annex is still drying out, and the dehumidifier
has been going full bore for several weeks now, sucking a bucket load of water
out of the concrete floor every day. The laying of the new carpet is fast
approaching so it’s turning out to be a bit of a race against time. I’m also into
the tedious business of washing the remains of the field water off all the
woodwork to see what needs re-painting- not too bad so far, but dealing with
all this and getting the furniture back in will keep me off the streets for a while. It will be nice to get the garage back, too
It could have been so much worse and in fact still might have been. We’ve had some really heavy rain since the main event and in fact I think we might have been re-flooded again, twice over, if Nathan and I hadn’t seen to the defences that failed last time. There’s now a second water-ditch talking the strain off the main one- doing good business. Moreover when I went to post some letters I was amazed to see that the ‘Gog,’ a winterbourne that runs through the village and which is normally just a dry ditch, had turned into a foaming mini-river over two feet deep, complete with several loud and gushing waterfalls.
There's more to come too. It's an aspect of global warming I will need to make major adjustments to.
Water also turned out to be a major theme of a completely unexpected three day break at Clovelly courtesy of R, S and V. I think it's my 23rd visit to the astonishingly picturesque little fishing village where the cobbled streets are so steep and narrow that no cars can use them. I've been having trouble with my hip recently and i wondered if I would be able to cope with the quite long descent down the Wrinkleberry path and though the village itself. But I found I could and in fact if anything it was significantly better afterwards. I suspect there's a moral there somewhere!
The stay was a total delight even though it rained or drizzled or was foggy nearly all the time, sometimes all three. Most atmospheric was a walk to see Hawker’s Hut at Morwenstowe in Cornwall where that extraordinary 19th Century Anglican-Catholic clergyman used to sit writing his sermons while watching the sea far below for ships in danger of shipwreck, and sailors in need of rescue, of which there were many. His church loomed eerily out of the mist
so of course when we finally made it to his hut on the cliff edge, (being careful because it’s a sheer drop of several hundred feet and there’s no fence for some of the way) we couldn’t see a thing, but did at least hear the crashing of the waves on the knife-like jagged rocks below. More prosaically we also found the renewed geo-cache. Getting there and back was pretty atmospheric too !
Of course it wasn’t all like that. In fact the day
we arrived we all trooped down to Clovelly (quite a steep, slippery hike as I have said) to see and participate in the ‘Lentsherd.’ Apparently the local custom is for all the
local kids to race down the steep cobbled street dragging empty cans on string,
making as much noise as possible to frighten away all the evil spirits who
evidently frequent the place. Down in the harbour all the cans are gathered
together and dumped into the sea (and pulled out again afterwards of course) –
and everyone troops off to the Red Lion on the quay for pancakes and beer. We contributed our cans for the general good but came back up to the cottage to light the fire and enjoy our pancakes etc
This time of year, most things were shut of course and there were very few people around. In some ways this was really quite nice, with lots of opportunities for young V to first-foot it on otherwise deserted beaches, like Hartland Quay for some serious work on stream diversions, the dredging of reservoirs and even the building of the odd castle, drizzle and rain notwithstanding.
For me it was unsettlingly similar to what I had been doing, and was about to do, in the back of the paddock when coping with the flooding.
But it was all fun and very definitely a change. On the way home, I managed at last to walk the Doone valley; previous attempts had been foiled by atrocious weather and infuriating road closures. The valley was almost deserted (one other car in the NT car park) and utterly quiet, except for the roaring of the waters of the Barle – and indeed the famous waterslide that I like to think inspired R.D. Blackmore to write his book. Whatever, it’s a lovely spot to muse on things away from a troublesome world.
There were also the first primroses I’ve seen this year scattered about in the valley, but the prize has surely to go to this overgrown violet, if that’s what it is, that I spotted by the Gog. Spring is definitely on its way and hopefully rather drier weather ahead - if not quite yet, by the sound of things !
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