Monday, June 25, 2007
In which a chain saw is a must-have accessory...
'Rain? What rain?' I said smugly as most of the country sheltered indoors yesterday. It looked as if the record breaking torrential downpour was going to pass us by. The sun even came out for a while and was warm on my back as I hauled chickweed from between the onions. In the late afternoon Alan lit the barbecue and that did the trick. The heavens opened even as match touched charcoal.
D and H and D's new car pulled in shortly afterwards. The car, apparently nervous at leaving the confines of Manchester's orbital motorway, was 'throwing a wobbly' and threatening not to go anywhere. Ever. Again. Oh dear. We all stood around, clueless in the rain, praying that its malaise was the proverbial 'something or nothing'. They were to drive home later in Alan's pick-up, leaving the new motor here with us.
And did it rain in the night? The works. Stair rods. Cats and dogs. And windy too. However, with places to go, people to see - namely the sickly car to our very own motor mechanic - we set out in convoy through driving wind and rain. Water was pouring off the fields, charging down the lane on its way to the saturated Rea Valley at the bottom of the hill. Here at Lower House the somewhat primitive drainage system which serves our three dwellings struggled to cope with the watery overload and soupy brown water pooled and bubbled in unusual and worrying places. Our way was barred at the top of the lane by a large ash tree which had fallen across the road.
Like re-winding a film we reversed back down the lane, got booted and suited in layers of waterproofs and collected chainsaw and fuel. Back at the top again the tree was soon dismembered, literally cut limb from limb and branches and brushwood hauled aside. This was the Trelystan Chainsaw Massacre. The lane was cleared and we were able to drive on, albeit dripping wet and hung about with twigs and sawdust.
Now generally speaking, I'm not a fan of chainsaws. They're noisy, machine-y, macho things. I can take 'em or leave 'em. But today I can't think of anything I'd rather have had with me - except for Alan of course who wielded the beast so expertly.