Literal deluge

The  new hot-water cylinder/geyser in the loft exploded at  about 8am this morning and flooded the kitchen and bathroom. Water  gushing down through old wood beams. If the house had modern ceilings, they would have  come crashing down.

Neighbours heard the  loud bang and rushed over as I phoned the housemate on my  low batteried cell phone and  she called the electrician/plumber, the landlord, more neighbours.  The  dogs were safely herded into a dry room, we moved furniture. The landlord arrived and  promptly lost the keys to the  gate, began shouting orders at everyone. I had turned off the electricity (my terror of live  electricity, water and lethal shocks) and  was setting out buckets as rugs  rippled on a tide of muddy water, fruit bowls  overflowed, and cordoned dogs barked furiously, Slipped in the kitchen ankle-deep in water and wrenched my back, my neighbour skidded  down to join me. We helped each other up, laughing  and reassuring one another. The kitchen and bathrooms sluiced with  a torrent of water that flowed out into the back yard. The water mains were turned off and  the loft  mopped down, then  we  set to work on the wooden and tiled floors. A river flowing  right through the house, water everywhere, tide marks on  table legs, the skirting boards stained and swollen.

‘A flood!’ shouted  my  elderly neighbour J as she  and her husband came over, bearing flasks of coffee and  dry blankets, old towels in case the dogs were wet and needing a rub-down. The housemate rang every five minutes to check that the dogs were fine.The dogs of course were in seventh heaven with all the noise, excitement and attention.

‘Think of this as a good  spring-cleaning opportunity!’ joked the electrician/plumber. I  smiled weakly at him. He has just had a heart bypass and must not be upset or agitated by anyone. I have no idea what went wrong with the new  hot water cylinder, but he  went up with three assitants and  replaced the  cylinder within 40 minutes.

A literal deluge.  But there we are with hot and cold running water again, insurance claims to be filled out, the  floors drying, the house scrubbed and  neat again, habitable. Rugs and tablecloths  hanging up outside in the bright winter sunshine, cushion covers soaking  in  sudsy bath water. Neighbours chatting over mugs of coffee. Dogs  running around outside and  sniffing the mud. In a short while I shall  lie down with a hot-water bottle tucked against the small of my back and reflect on  how to go with the flow, how to ride the tide of circumstances with equanimity.

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