WE British love to talk about the weather don't we? But I think if one more person said to me on Sunday 'well we've certainly had a bit of rain haven't we?'; I would have clonked them with my umbrella. That's if I could find it, which I never can when it's needed.
And what about all those television people who keep trotting out statistics? 'It's the worst October since records started' they brightly say. Which must be an awful lot of comfort to those who have four foot of dirty water over their best Wilton and the tele has just floated out the door.
'It's alright dear', some husband will say, 'we're making history so don't worry about the three piece suite'.
On Saturday and Sunday I sank into one of those bad weather depressions where all I wanted to do was collapse on my sofa with a pile of library books ignoring all the housewifely jobs which needed doing. Gardening was out, apart from staring out of the windows wishing I had put away all those loose pots which had now been blown towards Plymouth.
Hanging out laundry was a no go, not unless I wanted my clothes to join the plant pots. We do have a tumble drier but whenever we use it my son-in-law gets that strained look on his face which all men get when you turn a tumble drier on. I think they are nurtured in their cradles with tales of how it costs £22.50 to dry five towels and a pair of jeans.
The cats were particularly annoying especially when it came to going out to answer the call of nature. I knew, and they knew I knew, that they both wanted to 'go' but were both hoping I would come up with a solution which didn't involve a force nine gale up their delicate little furry backsides.
Sadly I had to tell them that their litter tray was now residing in the garage somewhere under the piles of stuff we took out of the old kitchen and by the time I had found it nature would have called and departed several times over. When they both reluctantly shuffled out of the front door the grey one appeared at the back kitchen window so fast he must have caught a jet plane, and he certainly hadn't spent even a halfpenny.
Eventually we compromised and muggins carried them to the greenhouse and made a few suggestions which were hastily followed up.
During the evening, having watched the increasingly bad weather news, it occurred to me that if tornados are going to become a regular feature in our weather patterns one ought to think about the possibility of it happening in Cornwall and the even worse possibility of having to be rescued when one was wearing to bed odd socks, a warm but decidedly un-glamorous nightie and that cosy bobble hat. I personally am going to have to re-think my night attire if there's even the slightest possibility of the television cameras coming round to film a rescue.
But if the worst came to the worst what would you rescue? The family first, of course, then the animals. I suspect our cats would already have bolted up the stairs, pulled the loft ladder down and be safely ensconsed under the tiles before the first trickle of water appeared under the door.
Most men would probably go for the television and VCR and their favourite sports videos. Many a wife is going to be really pleased to discover that while her washing machine is now bobbing up and down in the dining room their husband has managed to rescue 'best FA cup goals this century' and the 1996 Ryder Cup play-off.
Most women would take their handbags. I mean, your whole life is in there isn't it? I always smile when I listen to the emergency instructions on aircraft when the stewardess gets to the bit about leaving your handbags behind in order to slide down the shute. Not on your life sweetheart. If I'm going to be emergency ejected from an aircraft I'm going to be hanging onto my handbag for dear life and just you try to part me from it.
I don't know why I'm laughing about flooding actually because I'm spending Christmas in Germany with my daughter and her family and when I'm there I sleep in the cellar and the area where she lives is subject to flash floods and the cellar has been flooded twice in the past two years.
I should explain that sleeping in the cellar is not due to any antagonism on the part of my son-in-law (although I suspect he may occasionally boast of this fact to his mates). No, it's mainly because it's cool and spacious and German cellars are designed to be useful rather than merely homes for mice and spiders.
It's got all mod cons, a cosy bed and besides they keep all the booze down there. Who could ask for more?
So I'll be comfortable unless they invite Norman Bates round for dinner or the German drains point themselves in my direction. Then it's going to be a case of handbag gripped firmly in the teeth and a quick exit through the window.