Pressure

Until very recently the house was supplied with spring water. There is a very efficient filter system in place and I was more than happy to drink delicious non-chlorinated spring water that would cost a bomb if it was bottled and put in the shops. Granted, the system wasn't perfect, as the spring water also supplied the cattle troughs, and if any of the cattle troughs got kicked over by a frisky cow, our water supply would slow to a trickle and then stop.

Whenever the subject of mains water was raised I was informed that we couldn't just change over because of the difference in pressure. Our spring water system just wouldn't cope with mains water. All the ballcocks and pipes would need replacing first. It made sense to me.

So imagine my surprise when my water supply was changed from spring to mains a month or two ago.

"Don't we need to change the pipes first?" I asked, in some concern.

"It'll be all right," said my Boss.

"Right," I said.

So imagine my surprise when, on my way to bed at midnight, I discovered a river of water running through the house.

The water pipe outside my kitchen window had burst and was fountaining gallons of water up through the drain cover and subsequently into my kitchen. I phoned my Boss who duly arrived with his brother-in-law, Colin, our resident plumber and builder. We all stood outside, in our wellies, torchlight reflecting off the bubbling water.

"Nothing we can do tonight," said Colin. "I'll just turn off the water supply for now and be back first thing in the morning".

When you've spent the night having to fetch buckets of water from the courtyard to flush the loo, it is a wonderful thing to see a yellow digger outside the kitchen window. It gives you hope.

After much excavation the offending broken piece of pipework was found and replaced.

"I reckon it was the change in water pressure that did it," mused Colin.

"You reckon?"

"Oh yes. It'll be all right now."

Imagine my surprise a few days later when I discovered the overflow from the cold water tank in the roof space pouring out water just outside my back door. To exit the house you had to go through a small waterfall. Colin came to investigate.

"It's the ballcock. It's not designed for this kind of mains pressure. I'll fit a new one."

"Will it be ok now?"

"Oh yes."

I am already imagining my next surprise.

Back to Normality

Well, almost.

It has been a challenging week. After the drama of the previous week it has been a huge relief to have had a sunny, mostly dry weekend. In particular it has been great to have some visitors again. We opened as normal during the week, but we were fighting a losing battle, really. The surrounding roads were still closed, with many of the staff and volunteers being unable to get to us, let alone visitors. While the catering staff stood around in the empty tea room, the scones untouched, the cakes uneaten, the volunteers roamed the deserted house, switching on lights and moving the furniture in an attempt to remain entertained.

There were a couple of days where everyone went home early, after having no customers at all for hours. Conditions have been generally gloomy.

Thankfully, things seem to be improving. I hardly had to put anything back to how it should be in the house today, which must mean they were nicely busy again.

Flooded

I had taken the week off, as holiday, and even booked a locum, so I could be entirely footloose and fancy free.

Ah, the joy of getting up in a leisurely fashion, happy in the knowledge Somebody Else Was Dealing With It. I decided to spend my time off having some day trips out to visit friends and to spend some time with my family. So I drove into town yesterday for a girls day out with my daughter. We had our hair done, shared a splendid lunch, did a bit of shopping. It rained incessantly but I was determined to enjoy my time off, so stayed out as long as possible. A text arrived on my mobile phone. It was from McColleague: The Boss has closed the house and estate and sent everybody home, due to the severe weather.

Perhaps it was time to return, after all.

The journey home was exciting, to say the least. During the hours we'd spent in town the road had flooded in several places and long queues of cars had formed wherever one of these impromptu fords had occurred. The rain lashed the windows of the car, big 4x4s and lorries zoomed by and sent waves of water flooding over us, reducing visibility further as my poor squeaky windscreen wipers tried to keep up with the job in hand.

I was relieved when, an hour later, we finally made it back onto the estate.

"Nearly home now," I said to my daughter.

We drove through the first mile of parkland, the single track road now a torrent of water. The road twists and turns downhill and the last stretch goes through the woods. As we entered the trees I had a feeling all was not well. I couldn't see the road ahead in the distance, just a mass of foliage.

As we drew nearer I could see the massive tree which had fallen down, completely blocking the road. "I'm not staying here in case any more trees are about to come down," I said as I reversed all the way back through the woods and onto the parklnad again.

I phoned my Boss. He was with Lovely Warden in the landrover and we didn't have to wait long before they arrived.

"We'll go down and take a look," said my Boss. "Then we'll come back and let you know the situation."

They rode off into the murk of the woods, and my daughter and I sat and waited, the rain drumming on the roof.

Eventually they returned. "It's too dangerous to move," yelled my Boss from the landrover. "We'd be putting ourselves at risk if we try to work in there now."

I was perplexed. How was I going to get home? There is only the one road.

"Is there anyone in the house now?" asked my Boss.

"There's my daughter's boyfriend," I replied.

"Well, phone him and get him to walk up to the fallen tree from the house, and bring your wellies and wet weather gear. Lovely Warden and I will drive you down to the tree in the landrover and get you around it on foot. You'll have to leave your car here."

There then followed a few minutes of prioritising, as I peered into the boot of the car and decided which shopping I would carry on foot and what I would leave behind. It says a lot about how people react under pressure, as I opted to bring the cheesecake and wine and leave behind the toilet rolls.

My daughter and I then clambered into the back seat of the landrover, with our bags, and headed back into the wild woods. My Boss wasn't happy. He kept looking out of the window and saying scary things like "That one's going to go soon, as well."

When we reached the fallen tree again we were instructed to stay put while he and Lovely Warden assessed the best route past it.

"Right," he said, opening the landrover door and gesturing for us to scramble out. "I want you two out of here as quickly as possible."

He guided us up the steep muddy bank and around the massive uprooted base of the tree. My shoes were sodden and didn't provide much in the way of grip. My daughter had sensibly worn her Dr Martens so was doing somewhat better than I. Still, we did both make it to the other side and back onto the road without falling over or dropping the wine and cheesecake. We have finely honed survival skills.

Fortunately my daughter's boyfriend appeared at that point, soaked to the skin himself but clutching two carrier bags full of wellies. At least the final mile was walked with dry feet.

So, the house remains closed for the time being. We are cut off from the outside world rather efficiently. At times like this all you can do is settle down with your cheesecake and wine and count your blessings.

Bigger Rain

Well, that was an impressive storm .

Ironically enough, the digger had returned first thing yesterday morning to repair the hole, again.

Watching the river of rainwater flowing across the fields and down across the path, over the newly filled in hole, I began to suspect further repairs may be necessary.

As it turned out, the hole withstood the tide rather well, but the path itself has lost a lot of its surface. Great grooves have been gouged out and bare rubble remains.

The tea room flooded again, a couple of paths in the woods were washed away and the bridge which forms the only access to one of our holiday cottages was swept away entirely, stranding the elderly holidaymakers within. Needless to say it has been an incredibly busy day, especially for our wardens. They have been dashing about in waders, putting things right, building temporary bridges, mending pathways and just being rugged.

Given the unsettled forecast I comfort myself with the expectation of lots more warden in waders action during the week.

Big Rain

I stood at my kitchen window gazing out at the sheets of rain cascading down. I knew what to expect next. Every time we have heavy rain a river flows through my kitchen. It begins in the utility room, flows gracefully through the kitchen, and out to the back door. This time was no exception and we resignedly moved shoes, chairs and the dog's bag of Eukenuba out of the way as the water began its progress.

However, this time the rain brought with it a multitude of tiny toads.
Well, they might be toads. They might be frogs. They really are far too tiny to tell, as you can see from the picture above. They are about the size of my little finger nail and I must have collected about 30 before I went to bed that night, carefully placing them outside, only for them to return a few minutes later. I can't bear to leave them though, partly because I am so scared of accidentally stepping on one, and partly because they tend to dehydrate and die overnight and I find their tiny dried spindly bodies too unbearably sad as I suck them up the hoover.

The following morning I excitedly reported the tiny toad invasion to McColleague when she arrived for work. She pointed out there were hundreds outside the front door too, the visitor entrance to the house, their tiny bodies clambering over the fibres in the coconut door matting and clinging to the boot brush. Some had already been squished. So, I made a sign, saying "Watch your feet! Tiny toads crossing!" It worked really well, and we had great fun watching people gingerly picking their way across the lawns, trying not to step on any mini amphibians.

The big rains also caused the reappearance of another familiar feature. Yes, the hole is back, bigger and better than ever!
Here you can see the lovely McColleague pointing at it in true local newspaper photography style. I tried to get the builder chap and his digger back again, but he was busy elsewhere on the estate, as the storm drains up at the tea room had also collapsed. The kitchen staff had arrived to find their kitchen entirely flooded. McColleague and I decided to go and investigate and see if any cakes needed rescuing. We are not too proud to eat water damaged scones.
Amazingly, despite the above setting, people were still sitting nearby to sip their cups of tea and shout polite conversation over the noise. I find it amazing that I get comments cards complaining about dribbly teapots, yet no one says a word when they have to leap a trench and dodge the digger, Indiana Jones style, in order to enter the tea room. It seems our visitors are just as unpredictable as our weather.