A Dry House

Not an alcohol-free one obviously.

It's the third anniversary of our big flood. Three years - Christ - where did they go?

Which brings with it two blessings.

a) the flood was easily the worst thing that has ever happened to us, so on any measure of suffering we're plainly incredibly lucky people.

b) we now live on high ground...




The Ballad of Shifnal Floods

It was before midnight though it seemed much later.
We were fast asleep though we hadn't been for long,
When I woke up to the sound of running water.
I thought “Shit, Anne's plumbed the dishwasher in wrong”
And reached for the light switch, but we'd blown a fuse.

A middle-aged fat man
In a towelling dressing-gown
Stepping ankle deep into water
Thinking over and over;
I need some shoes.

I was stumbling round the kitchen in the dark
Still fretting about the dishwasher, thinking
This is insane, we're never going to be
able to rent again, when I opened the back door
And the Wesley brook came sluicing through.

A middle-aged fat man
Wading in water
Up to his waist
Saying over and over
“Umm, where's my shoes.”

I slammed the door shut and only now realised
What must be occurring. I went back upstairs
To wake my wife. She had earplugs in because
Of my snoring; If I hadn't have woken her
I think she'd have slept right on through.

A middle-aged fat man
Shaking his wife
Dripping with water
Saying over and over“Anne, where's my shoes.”

Anne was looking for candles and matches
I was looking at the window latches
Wondering where the keys might be.
We'd only moved in a few weeks before
Not that I'm using that as an excuse

A middle-aged fat man
Head pressed against a pane
Wondering if he'll be the same again
Saying over and over
“Umm, where's my shoes.”

Anne phoned the police before the line died.
I heard her say “Of course I don't have any sand-bags.”
And as I slipped beneath the waves, I heard her snort
“What do you mean, it's much worse in Bridgnorth?”
Little wonder we had not a clue what to do.

A middle-aged fat man
Treading on floor-boards
Floating two feet high
Saying over and over
“Where are my shoes”

We spent an hour moving things to-and-fro
In the dark, and arguing and falling over, and so
I forgot about my savings and investment box
And instead rescued a cheap copy of an old Lawrence Block
And that was about all we didn't lose.

A middle-aged fat man
Waves goodbye to his wife
Rescued by her parents
Saying over and over
“Where are my shoes.”

I was sat outside, with a gaggle of onlookers;
And neighbours and the landlord of the local pub;
When slowly floating down the alley, then off down the road
And into the Wesley, was an old plastic bath tub..
No-one would think this front-page news.

A middle-aged fat man
Sits on a wall in the morning air
Saying once and once only
Oh look over there
“That there's my shoe.”



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