Into Each Life, Some Rain Must Fall

Yesterday was an interesting day but actually, the fun actually started the evening before on the train to Waterloo.

Whilst on my way to a dinner in aid of the fantastic Children's Trust I received a call from the Coastguard saying the US Coastguard had received a distress signal from the Golden Arc Expedition. That was interesting because the expedition finished 8 weeks ago and one of the boys is now in Barcelona and the other is in New Zealand. After a flurry of calls to locations east and south we established that the signal must have come from the VHF radio which was stolen in Puerto Rico back in November. Whilst no one would wish ill on anyone at sea there is a certain karma there. Mrs Flashbang relaxed and we went to dinner.

During dinner I discovered that my imaginative and audacious plan for Mrs Flashbang's birthday present the next day had one minor flaw. I didn't have the winning raffle ticket. I wondered if I would still have a wife the next morning.

The next morning I was relieved to find I still had a wife and lucky me, a flat tyre. It was raining very hard. I called recovery and a jolly man appeared an hour later. It was still raining. The jolly man stopped being the life and soul when he split the locking nut when trying to remove it, 'it's very common on Land Rovers sir.' I've been driving them for 30 years but you learn something new every day. With the wheel stuck he called the recovery truck and I wait for two hours. It was raining just a bit harder when they came and took my car away to the garage for repair. I was left to ponder just what the cost of 'well, its a very tricky and niggly job sir,' will be.

I had a quick lunch with a friend and we laughed about it all.

I stopped laughing when I returned home. I could hear the dogs were distressed. That would be because of the water pouring out of the front door. There was a lot of water. Burst pipes will do that. Four hours later, I finished the initial clean up and waited for the plumber. Happy Birthday plans were amended somewhat.

Still we said, 'no one got hurt.'

Just then daughter called. Daughter has always wanted to fly in a helicopter. She had just ticked that box being medevaced off a Swiss mountain with a suspected broken arm. 

Poured an agricultural sized gin and Mrs Flashbang said, 'What else could possibly go wrong?' 'Well,' I thought to myself quietly, 'it is only quarter past eight.'