Yesterday's non-stop, deary rain nearly produced an island within an island. A huge lake appeared in the village. This morning a van from the Council appeared, from which a man dressed in head-to-toe waterproofs emerged. He had a sour expression on his face, and it became even sourer as he watched Mary (68) and myself pick our way through the flood; Mary rashly started to make some remark about the weather and was clearly on the verge of being slam-dunked into the lake by Council man when a white van drove past, sending a tsunami over Mary's best shoes and my wellies.

Council man was evidently cowed by Mary's unladylike expression of disgust and the chilling prospect of a similar fate as White Van Man, should Mary ever catch up with the latter and carry out her threats; he hurriedly turned his attention to the drain that wasn't draining. He managed to extract the drain cover, with an expression akin to the one I imagine Paris Hilton would adopt on being asked to do wash the pots without a pair of Prada rubber gloves. Then replaced it and got back into this van and drove away.

Evidently someone else is responsible for a blocked drain as opposed to a blocked drain cover. So we still have a lake, Mary still has wet shoes and I am definitely not going to take my wellies off until the summer. At least.