Her name is Rachel

The water level is the highest we’ve seen it, in the reddest of the red water depth gauge, and although the gantry isn’t exactly horizontal, it may well be if this keeps up.
Bertha tried.
So did Gonzalo.

Today is Thursday.
Tuesday, we had snow.
Last night was stormy and we were assaulted by the elements with a vengeance, but held fast.
Today I read that Rachel is to blame, and she doesn’t intend to give up.

We got caught out this morning, having walked into town in brilliant sunshine and clear skies, only for it to change dramatically five minutes from home.
The dog was toweled dry, then blasted with the hairdryer and is now curled up on her bench slightly wavy as she dozes in the intermittent sun.
There is no way we could get our clothes and coats dry in the boat, so Hubby has spent the last half hour in the launderette.
Everything done, he made it back before the skies opened again.
Rain is currently falling, those icy, cold fingers that soak through your outer layers and into your soul.

Looking at the striped sky, itself a mass of confusion, rain will pummel the boat in time waves, and we will sit and watch for a clear patch to take Maggie out for her business. Luckily, there is nothing we have to do today, apart from yet another weather war.