Big rain. Rain like a bastard. Plenty of weather round here, more than our fair share, always something meteorological. Don’t need radar animations and the weatherguy’s hand-wringing prognostications just stick your head out the window, clouds all day, escarpment gone and here on the plain in this last spot of sunshine all it takes is…
…wind turns southerly and it’s on for young and old: big rain. And idiots in Diahatsu commuters and low slung Skoobies* going flat out into floodwaters, roostertails and stopped in the middle waving to us across all this big rain. Idiots we’ll say if the TVs on, if the power’s still going. Every time some copper says ‘don’t drive into floodwaters’ and then they’ll play the clip and up and down our street, all together we’ll say…ya focking idiot (tho’ chances are we’ll know the driver, pick the car).
And there’ll be the emergency controller in his tidy white shirt who’s had hundreds of cries for help with rooftiles, trees, powerlines and idiots in their washed away cars. Garden streams turned to torrents in an instant sweep untethered toddlers and puppies out to sea and lightning blasts three old ducks right off their perch (one died) makes you wonder about god’s sense of humour or if this is the devil’s big rain. Next there’s some dumb reporter standing at the flood, leaning into the wind, saying how it’s best we all stay indoors and keep out of this big rain. Yeah right. Focking journalists.
So we forget about democracy and the heart’s decline and that poor little kiddie covered in plaster dust from the shelling hasn’t seen the inside of a classroom or a decent feed for years and the melting ice and the corals dying and our souls, our souls…
…for some idiot in their low slung Scoobie going flat out into floodwaters.
Big rain alright.
* coll. Subaru sports car.