Raindrops Keep Falling on my Bed

We’re still swaddled in winter layers of clothes here – I sit at the computer with a plaid rug over my knees and start wondering whether mittens would be a good idea, as the wind howls around the roof in the intervals between the drummings of rain. Anyone would be forgiven for thinking we’re in England here – it’s certainly wet enough. The dry winters when we yearned for a good rainstorm and sangomas held rain ceremonies to break the drought are long forgotten. They were certainly successful!

Our school Spring Fair ten days ago was chased inside the classrooms by gale warnings and the bouncy castle was only in action for a short time before being taken down again in case it blew away Yellow Brick Road style.

That night the heaviest and blowiest rainstorm in years centred itself over our house and we found leaks where the roof had never leaked before. The power had long ago gone that evening and we sat by the fire, with our sons head lamp lighting our books, until carrying a candles and oil lamps we retired to bed … only for my husband to put his hand down on his side of the bed and find it sopping wet… the roof had never leaked in our bedroom before. Unamused by my rendition of the song in my blog title, he hurried up stairs to position containers under the drips and we grabbed the duvet from the spare bedroom, piled on the blankets and lay in bed listening to the gale playing with our roof.

This weekend we’ve had yet more rain – a sunny warm Saturday pretended that it was spring again and we rashly squandered a few hours of it going to the movies to see Mamma Mia – but then by Sunday morning we woke up to clouds and drizzle again. (Mamma Mia, by the way, was brilliant, we loved it and came out singing wildly and wanting to go back for more with the whole family.)

More rain in the night tested out the repairs my husband had made to the roof and happily we stayed dry inside, but it carried on relentlessly through Monday, turning our dirt road into a quagmire bordered by raging torrents. The new car has made it through numerous times on the school run and now looks very similar to the old car, well bespattered with muck.

The spring flowers are hardly getting a look in this year. The daisies only show their faces when the sun shines and so our photo session at the start of the flower season looks destined to be the only one, as the white daisies are already almost over.

I now feel thoroughly English having had a good moan about the weather, but now I need to remember to be South African too, and be thankful for such a nice lot of rain that will see us through the hot summer ahead, with dams and reservoirs replenished. I only wish we could share a bit of it with friends and family in Australia where they are in desperate need of good rain in their catchment areas, it seems so unfair for us to be so soggy when their reservoirs are drying up.