Floods are kind of my guilty pleasure

Lots of people say that certain T.V. shows are their guilty pleasures, because they enjoy them but are slightly embarrassed about the fact they enjoy them. Like when it’s really late and you’ve just gotten back from a night out and the guy you love is sprawled on the sofa next to you and you try your best not to giggle when You’ve Been Framed comes on because you want to maintain a sophisticated aura, but then he chuckles, and you decide what the Hell? and just enjoy it.

For me, it’s floods. And I think I come from a defensible position. My character and moral compass cannot be attacked or compromised. My house was flooded in June, and destroyed, and we were out of it until November last. My piano was destroyed; so were my books, photograph albums, all the furniture, and the interior walls. I have experience, and can both sympathise and empathise with moderate-flood victims. Not ones who’s houses are torn down, or those who have lost loved ones. I’m talking just a bit of structural damage,  nostalgic memorabilia loss, and inconvenience.

The floods that cause these losses, a few feet, slow flowing… these are my guilty pleasures. Yes, I know they cost people their livelihoods, their homes, things that mean a lot to them: but for some horrible reason, I still like them. There’s something gut-wrenchingly exciting about watching the water creep up the steps to your home, as you lie in wait, barricaded and prepared.

For your entertainment, I also include a photograph of my back garden. That little bit of wall sticking up to the left midground is waist level, and there are steps leading down lower past it. Yup. It was deep. I apologise for the poor quality, I had only my phone to record the apocalypse.

2013-01-25 16.37.48

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