Suffolk is apparently one of the driest counties in the UK. Ha, not this week. In our village, walking the half mile from home to school these days involves super-human feats of leaping across (or wading through) ankle-deep mud-puddles that cover the whole pavement. Then there are the high-speed dashes to safety to avoid the car-induced tidal waves that threaten to engulf you.
It’s a glamorous life. Waterproof coats and even waterproof trousers are essential. Wellies too, of couse, otherwise you may have to choose between wet and muddy feet or an undignified piggy-back over the lakes that are spreading everywhere.
But it’s real. Heavy grey skies and cold, driving rain may not be everyone’s (or, indeed, anyone’s) weather of choice, but it’s part of the seasonal cycle and I’m privileged to be able to get outside in the fresh open air to experience (if not always enjoy) nature doing its thing.
I spent most of yesterday – when I wasn’t paddling through the village in my wellies dodging the waves and sliding in the mud – on dry, over-heated trains and in draughty concrete and steel station buildings, and I felt grubby and stuffy and not-quite-real. Give me a bit of good honest mud and sheeting rain any day. Just promise me dry clothes and a hot cup of tea afterwards!