Here comes the flood

Curious people (in every sense of the word) who visit Voyages en Rose on a regular basis may have noticed a pattern in my publication habits. In a normal week, I try to churn out 3 pieces with slightly different feels to them: Pithy, Profound, and Pantyhosed.

Often I am wildly off the mark on at least two of them, but trust me dear friends, the intent is there.

This weeks publication schedule is threatened however by events beyond my immediate control. It is raining, and I mean Biblically raining. Chez Bellejambes is presently partly submerged. While I would rather be battling with back zips and wrestling metaphor into a state of surrender, I am battling the elements, and wrestling with the very outer limits of my physical capabilities.

Fear not though, the wardrobe is safe.

Be assured too, or perhaps even a little freaked out to learn, that this cross dresser is butch enough too to possess a shop vac, and not one, but two submersible pumps. Happily, my wife and I are insured out the wazzoo, but I am always gruesomely fascinated with exactly how Insurers respond to prone wazzoo’s when given half a chance.

Apart from the grief attendant upon all of these unhappy events, there is my sadness in not being able to work out a couple of themes that came to mind last week. Stuff I look forward to writing and sharing. I beg your patience, and promise to reward it next week with some better than middling efforts disguised as blog posts.

Fans of vintage Peter Gabriel may recognize the lyric from the headline of this post. Or was it Robert Fripp? Sorry, a little busy to Google it up just now. If there is anything good in all of this, that song popped into my head over the gurgling of a pump in my crawl space. Has not left yet and beats hell out of many songs that may have infuriatingly dossed down in my noggin for the duration of this minor ordeal. Small blessings everywhere.

Keep dry. Damply yours, Petra