Playing Catch Up

It’s hard to think creatively amid the din of hailstones smashing into the windows and the roof of the conservatory. At least I am at home this morning — there was a point last night where it didn’t look that hopeful.

We’d gone out for a meal and a drink at a pub that borders on the Severn Estuary. Spray was rising high above the defence wall between the water and the pub car park but that was ok because we could just park in the spaces well away from the waterfront. But within less than an hour it was clear there was a problem. Instead of spray coming up over the wall, we saw the waves themselves. The car park turned into a beach with water that just got deeper and deeper. Without an all-terrain vehicle the chances of getting out without the sea water being sucked into the engine, looked rather dicey.

There are worse places to be in such situations of course — the pub floor might not have been very inviting as a bed but it was at least dry (providing the sandbags at the doors kept the water back) and there was plenty of food and drink. Fortunately after 90 minutes or so the tide turned and the level subsided enough to be able to drive away. Fortunate too that I had changed my mind at the last moment and wore leather boots instead of suede ones which would not have been ideal for wading through water to get to the car.

An adventurous end to the week. We were certainly lucky compared to the hundreds of people who got flooded out last night with more storms expected today.

A good day then to stay tucked up indoors. Maybe I can even catch up on some blog and reading related tasks which I have neglected of late. I had grand plans that over the Christmas holidays, I would get up to date with all my reviews of 2013 books. I managed a few but I still have 5 more to go. If I leave it much longer I’ll have forgotten what I thought about them.

And then of course there are the books I read in January. They were a mixed bunch:

I Killed Scheherazade – Joumana Haddad: admirable just for the fact it was published but not a great read.

Still Life by Louise Penny: the first in her Inspector Gamache series. A wonderful book set in the small Three Pines village in Canada. I can imagine myself living there especially if I can own the bistro.

Whatever Happened to Harold Absalon by Simon Okotie: a quirky novel about a private investigator’s search for a missing government transport advisor. This investigator is no Phillip Marlowe however, he’s about as incompetent as Inspector Jacques Clouseau (Pink Panther series).

The Alone to the Alone by Gwyn Thomas: this is a book club read (my choice). It’s a black humour story of a coal mining village in South Wales. Quality of the writing is excellent but there’s something about it that just doesn’t excite me.