Bloody Rain

Well, I hope the farmers are happy because I’m not. Coming from the land I’ve always been in tune with their rain requirements but enough is enough. The drought was broken the moment I decided to start rebuilding the Patio. An eyesore and dangerous example of jerry building, it had to go. I bought the timber and Solarspan sheeting with 50 ml of polystyrene insulation to handle the tropical heat. I lined up the plumber, electrician and carpenter but forgot to pay homage to the weather god. Thirty minutes after I disassembled the old construction the drought broke. Now open to the weather, my bar, lovingly topped with Jarrah parquetry reflecting my home in Pemberton, West Australia – the heart of the Jarrah and Karri forests, is ruined as are the shelves for Bundy Rum and Gin and Vodka and glasses that I’ve purloined during my travels. It’s bucketing down outside and plumbers, electricians and carpenters have lost interest in my little project as the city cops a hiding and everyone wants tradesmen to repair the rain damaged houses. Bugger