I have become a slave to the weather forecast.
Just as I was heading off to sleep, it started. I’m told that the ceiling drip that started the day after the scaffolding came down has got nothing to do with the work they just did. But now every time it rains it rains into my bedroom. And last night it was heavy.
It started dropping onto my bed. Just occasionally but I was hyperaware of it just as every single ploink by my ear seeped into my dreams. “Why didn’t you move your bed?” That’s Lou and she’s right but I was too close to sleep and it’s a big heavy thing to move. I just lay there half awake and half asleep for pretty much the whole damn night, with a now damp blanket on top. Mostly it went in the saucepan. Tomorrow I’ll look at ways of catching it in the attic before it gets into my room. Tom is on the sofa so I can’t just pretend it’s not happening. I might move the bed but right now the weather says there’s no rain tonight and I still kinda can’t believe that it comes in every time now, even though it evidently does.
Tired though I am I still made the time to see old family friends in the pub, and a convivial hour or so catching up over a pint, but I’m now ready and willing to fall flat on my face so I’ve run a bath and switched on the electric blanket and if there’s no rain it won’t electrocute me while I’m sleeping. I’m gonna roll the dice, baby.
There’ll be scaffolding up the block again soon. This time surely they’ll get to the bottom of it … With what little money I have left.