I do love Winnie-the-Pooh. Even (although, I hate the gopher) the 1968 Disney version of The Blustery Day, in which The Hundred Acre Wood becomes "floodier and floodier" and the Sherman brothers wrote 'The rain rain rain came down down down' to accompany Piglet's predicament, in which, as AA Milne originally wrote, he - Piglet - "is entirely surrounded by water." Piglet endearingly says to himself "It's a little Anxious to be a Very Small Animal Entirely Surrounded by Water." Pooh meantime escapes onto a broad branch of his tree with ten pots of honey. And sits, dangling his legs, until all the honey is gone.
Disney or book, the story has an innocent beauty and a happy ending. It lingers in memories of childhood and later, of sitting with a sleepy child curled up on your lap, sharing something that made you both smile.
However, I share Piglet's anxiety and don't love real floods. Particularly, when there are no upturned honey-jar boats on which to reach dry land, or sulky donkeys to conveniently fall in and splash you out of the water.
North, East and West our routes of departure from home were blocked by flooded roads on Friday morning and lakes where never there had been lakes before. We witnessed a stately flotilla of four happy geese sailing past the front door of a pink house that was standing in a vast puddle of rippling water flowing gently in a Southerly direction. Southerly was our only direction of escape, which was fortunate as school is South of us. However, we did have to travel north a couple of times in order to find better drained roads. I clearly caused a certain amount of wrath (judging by the obscene hand signals) from an ungentlemanly chap in an executive car who tail-gated me along an extremely wet and narrowly sinuous country road and in exasperation overtook me, roaring through the deep flood ahead, creating an I'm-bigger-then-you, inconsiderate, speed-boat-on-unspoilt-previously-tranquil-lake like wash and a bow wave that I so very much hoped would flood his engine. His consternation having disappeared round a flooded corner, I reversed my Small and Considerably Cheaper Car (I've taken a liking to Piglet's use of capitals) round several bends until I found a straight section of road wide enough in which to turn (hair raising, hair pin heroics of the I-don't-want-to-drown-my-car kind!) Driving the same drier road later, I was extremely disappointed not to see a large white car among the many others that had evidently failed at entry level of the trying-to-be-an-aquatic-vehicle test.
Dogs, unlike cars, do like water.
On the same floodier and floodier day, Bertie Baggins paddled
decided not to swim in the gushing brown torrent that had replaced our normally gently trickling stream
Disney or book, the story has an innocent beauty and a happy ending. It lingers in memories of childhood and later, of sitting with a sleepy child curled up on your lap, sharing something that made you both smile.
However, I share Piglet's anxiety and don't love real floods. Particularly, when there are no upturned honey-jar boats on which to reach dry land, or sulky donkeys to conveniently fall in and splash you out of the water.
North, East and West our routes of departure from home were blocked by flooded roads on Friday morning and lakes where never there had been lakes before. We witnessed a stately flotilla of four happy geese sailing past the front door of a pink house that was standing in a vast puddle of rippling water flowing gently in a Southerly direction. Southerly was our only direction of escape, which was fortunate as school is South of us. However, we did have to travel north a couple of times in order to find better drained roads. I clearly caused a certain amount of wrath (judging by the obscene hand signals) from an ungentlemanly chap in an executive car who tail-gated me along an extremely wet and narrowly sinuous country road and in exasperation overtook me, roaring through the deep flood ahead, creating an I'm-bigger-then-you, inconsiderate, speed-boat-on-unspoilt-previously-tranquil-lake like wash and a bow wave that I so very much hoped would flood his engine. His consternation having disappeared round a flooded corner, I reversed my Small and Considerably Cheaper Car (I've taken a liking to Piglet's use of capitals) round several bends until I found a straight section of road wide enough in which to turn (hair raising, hair pin heroics of the I-don't-want-to-drown-my-car kind!) Driving the same drier road later, I was extremely disappointed not to see a large white car among the many others that had evidently failed at entry level of the trying-to-be-an-aquatic-vehicle test.
Dogs, unlike cars, do like water.
On the same floodier and floodier day, Bertie Baggins paddled
decided not to swim in the gushing brown torrent that had replaced our normally gently trickling stream
tried to fly
and after the walk/paddle (and flight) dreamed happy dreams
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