A Cumec or Two

It's floody with a chance of sun. It's raining in your pants and the lightning gets behind your eyelids and the thunder punches your ballbag and some people's feet have rotted off, you can see them at the edges of puddles like white toads.
The sky needs putting back together. There's a tree at the bottom of the weir turning over and over and shards of it are being washed down brownstream. Lidl is out of socks and the carpenter is out of arks. The snakes are here too. It's Biblemania. I nearly unintentionally strimmed one. It went straight down into the earth and was never heard from again. It must've known about The Imminent Inspection. Champion strimmers have been flown in for a five day orgy of wet destruction. There must be no long grass or other hazard within fifty metres of any tent. The inspector will spend the day trudging the perimeter in flip-flops and if he so much as stubs his toe he'll bury the campsite and ban us all from France for life. It's tomorrow. Tenterhooks are being issued and as soon as we find out what they are we'll all be on them. But the internet's been washed away and the dictionary of idioms is up shit creek.