I tried not to throw mud and rotten leaves onto my wife's head as she held the ladder while I reached up and blindly sloshed about in the gutter. I did not look too hard at the object which had a different texture and weight to the leaves and muck that I threw down, but I think it was was once alive. And I don't mean fruit.
On my hands and knees trying to unblock a stormwater drain, I tried not to swallow the muck that splashed up into my face. I ignored the clogged root system's disconcerting habit of of sucking back into the pipe, as if it did not want to come out.
In between unclogging gutters and downpipes, I swept water from the flooded garage, whooshing it out the door, parallel to the bunding of wet towels that was stopping the rainwater tide.
I left the light off in case the water from the dripping roof got into the wiring, and electrocuted me, poaching me vigorously in the puddles.
That is, if I survived frying myself out in the thunderstorm.
Back outside, dripping wet, I watched a thundershower pelt the roof of a house across the road, with barely a wet mist coming my way.
Later that night, as I clambered about in our ceiling, looking for the source of a leak, I couldn't help observe that I had enjoyed sloshing about in the rain more.
And as I showered the cobwebs and rash-inducing insulation fibres away, I couldn't help but reflect upon the merits of not putting off "til tomorrow" what can be done today.
