It’s all down to the Jet Stream. It’s not a media construct, concocted by those who pull our strings to add weight to the recent climate change demonstrations — to boost the low-carbon economy and bolster sales of renewables. In fact the media haven’t even noticed that parts of the UK have dropped from sight — at first just soggy then gone — submerged.
I can’t quite work it out — it’s warm and the grass is growing but it just won’t stop raining — I know it’s Wales but it’s poured, unremittingly for three weeks — 260mm and 60 of those in the last 24 hrs — and if it slips any further ( the Jet Stream, that is) it will all be snow and we’ll be living in Canada…
We’ll need a skidoo and not just new industrial water-proofs.
It’s not just the media that has been pre-occupied with more momentous events — I only noticed when I went out for some milk and had a Dr Gloucester moment. Splashing through puddles in my little car, it suddenly felt as if I were driving through treacle and the outside world disappeared under the wave that enveloped the windscreen. Where was the road?
It reappeared only to disappear again almost immediately as I realised that I was wearing the wrong vehicle — I went home and changed.
Alan put on is red woolly hat and we set off in our truck to intrepidly go and be amazed by the awesome power of water.
Everywhere sheep were damp and disgruntled.
In Staylittle (Stay-a-little as it used to be called and which is a much better name) the water was rising.
By the Clywedog Reservoir, used to regulate the flow in the Severn, men from the Water Authority watched.
I’ve told you this before, but you probably won’t remember: the Wye and Severn rivers both start within about a mile of each other on a hill just up the road from here. Llangurig is the first town on the Wye and Llanidloes is the first on the Severn.
Both these towns are very near the sources of their rivers which go on down their respective valleys gathering volume and momentum — we have never seen them rage so much and so soon and so we fear for the communities downstream. Today, while I was taking these photos of the river by the Old Mill, I met the architect who was looking at the flats, converted about ten years, and he told me that he had never known the arch (which you can’t see — but you should be able to see) to be submerged completely before.
It’s all a bit worrying — the rain has stopped now but everywhere roars with draining water.