“Are you alright?” asked my Aunt L who lives about 15 miles further into Wales. It seems that her daughter and my first cousin C – who made me feel rather old but also rather young by becoming a granny a week after I became a father again – had been driving close to our village and noticed that there are floodwaters everywhere. Indeed there are.
Both of our lower fields are now fairly heavily flooded and the River Dee has encroached all the way through the orchard and, as you can see below, into our formal garden. Over on the other side, the fields are completely flooded meaning that there is now c300-400 yards of water between myself and the English infidels.
But at the nearest measuring point, the water is 8.742 metres deep and steady. For it to even get close to the bottom of the back step to the far part of the house it has to be 9.25 metres and above, something it has only just managed twice in twenty years: 9.28 metres in 2020 and 9.32 metres in 2000.
So Aunt L and cousin C: we are all well, safe and dry here at the Hovel.
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