Mudslide

A late back blip. I don’t know how many inches of rain fell the previous day or two, but the middle of the night was Twelve Drummers Drumming. When you consider what has happened to hillside villages in Italy and France, this is nothing. Nevertheless the farmers who had sown and fertilised are going to have to do a lot of it again.


This lot washed off the field, across the path I’m standing on (bootprints 6 inches deep right here) and down into the wood - see Extras. I said to Mrs F “don’t worry, I’ll walk Norwestie around the muddy bits”. Fat chance, I lifted her over this but the entire route was one big puddle! Walking parallel to a stream sounded like being next to a waterfall the whole way down.


Of course, in the renovation house, we had just opened up the roof to fix a leak. Some irony in this I feel, given how much we now let in.


Postscript, two days later. The stream still sounds the same. And the same amount is still coming off the waterlogged fields. More rain is forecast and, as I look out of the kitchen window over the Moray Firth, four ships are showing in the Marine Traffic app with “destination – shelter”.