So why is it every news anchor and his excitable producer keep trying to tell us that it is? This last week, a parade of heavyweight but interchangeable talking heads have attempted to construct a logical straight line between floods and global warming without passing through any points marked ˜proper science’, ˜historical precedent’ or even ˜common sense’.

These Serious Men In Wellies, as I’ve come to think of them, are summoning the same meteorological worthies who predicted the entire South East of England would be a Dustball by July of this year. This was, of course, before the rain started and the talk of water shortages stopped way back sometime in May.

But so desperate are the SMIW to create more doom from the gloom of waist deep flooding, they load the weather charlatans with explosive questions such as Well Global Warming is certainly a factor here, and it can only get worse wouldn’t you agree?

What follows is the doomsayer, at the dry end of the camera link, waffling total nonsense interjected with the odd nugget of useful information. It goes something like well actually the research suggests warmer and longer summers [ pause for dramatic effect ] but also for more rain as well. Huh?

That’s from the same box of wrongness that sunshine and showers came from and yet it doesn’t deter His Moistness The Smug from turning to camera “ with a sweeping arm to indicate inland sea where civilisation recently habituated “ and ending his report with a brief summary on how the world will end by about next Thursday.

Don’t get me wrong here – we’ve performed all sorts of selfish buggeration of the planet and it’s clear to anyone not President of the United States that climate change is pretty much unstoppable. But the media must stop binding every rain storm, strong wind or two unbroken days of sunshine into some kind of climatically catastrophic event.

If the Jet Stream wasn’t sat squarely above Bracknell and the Azores High could be arsed to play nicely on our Southern shores, we’d all be washing in each others wee and having the perfect excuse not to clean the car. So if the bloody BBC doesn’t stop treating me like an idiot, I shall be forced to unleash BOTH the Badger Berserkers AND the Ninja Voles. You want a catastrophic event “ then these highly trained military mammals are more than happy to oblige.

The weather this summer has been “ if I was tending to optimistic euphemisms “quite interesting. I was making this very comment to Carol as the M4 slip road disappeared under a raging torrent of flood water. The previous 45 minutes had crammed in a whole interesting adjectives such as dangerous, awash, scary and if I can throw in a noun – biblical.

And to exciting let me add odd. Specifically the oddness surrounding a scenario where the bow wave generated by a car from the other carriageway sweeps over the bonnet, overwhelms the wipers and crashes against the screen bringing with it the real threat of imminent drowning.

At one point during this watery voyage, a BMW actually sunk up to the door seals while attempting to abandon the post apocalyptic carnage that was the motorway which, at least, shows that God has a sense of humour.

Still quite interesting this, I ventured through gritted teeth as mile after mile of aquaplaning drove slow progress westwards towards some distant vision of weather sanity. Behind us, landslips blocked the motorway and passengers were being decanted from flooded trains scheduled for “ but never arriving at Bicester. Chiltern Railways again eh? I bet God was pissing himself. Literally.

Just plotting a non water based route onto the Motorway was tough enough. The rain continued to hammer down as we were besieged in a gray dark lit only by a thousand brake lights. Our way was blocked by the unusual July hazard of the road ahead being two feet below the water table. A diversion through a roundabout summering as a tidal pond was enlivened by a flock of stranded metal ducks floating gently in this murky soup.

Being aware that buried somewhere in the handbook would be a warning that this vehicle was not fitted with the optional hull and outboard motor, my route was a more circumspect plunge through still sufficient wet stuff to bury a much loved family pet. That’s assuming your animal of choice is lion sized or bigger.

As water cascaded over the windows, my grimace of fear sounded an odd counterpoint when a little used accountancy gland secreted stomach churning bile. This complex chemical reaction could best be summarised as tell me again, exactly how much does a new engine cost ?.

The sun finally broke through clouds, still heavy with more rain, as we crested a hill hiding the first green folds of the Devonshire countryside. Ten minutes later I turned off the wipers and began the difficult mental therapy of pretending the last four hours had been nothing more than a very bad, yet extremely vivid dream.

And when finally arriving bedraggled and horribly frazzled at the holiday cottage, what do you think the first thing we did? You got it, went for a swim.

Rather irritatingly still busy at the moment. However, this from my friend at work who has the knack of tracking down fantastic links. This from our batty friends at “Will it Blend”

The iPhone smoothie

When I get ten minutes, I’ll tell you the full story of last night’s run in with law. Running the very same red light that a police van is waiting at, and being only a single wobbly wheel from completely trolleyed nearly ended in a night falling down some stairs, behind the cells.

Oops.

I want to talk to you all about facebook. But I’m not quite ready as my initial snootiness has been sanded down to mere astonishment by just how bloody addictive it is. Anyway until sufficient mental damping files a placeholder for some meaningful words, here is another conundrum. When did the kids get so old?
Taking advantage of a entire day when the sky didn’t explode, we decamped to the garden for some proper family messing about. And photo-tarts as they are (chip off the old block there), random and verbal performed a grass-exercise (like a floor exercise only soilier) from their gymnastics class. I tell you, it must be their mum where this stuff comes from.

If I tried that, a devastating chain reaction would be triggered by a collapsing shoulder and likely ending in a month of traction. This didn’t stop them asking if one day they’d be as old and flabby as me. They spared me the adjective ‘useless‘ for which I’m grateful.

It was about yesterday when they learned to walk. I’m going to check the veg for GM content.