I was late for work this morning. Why? Because the route I cycle to the station was flooded.

It’s been raining for days, and it was inevitable there would be a slight delay before the main wash made it down to us. As I came out of the house and cycled into the nature reserve and on over the bridge it was obvious the river was much higher than usual, as it had spilled over the banks and marooned a bench and the large willow that had been snapped by the high winds in autumn.

It had flooded a long way into the horses’ grazing pasture, and the horses themselves were nowhere to be seen. In their place, a flock of excited ducks swam around in a newly-formed lake.

It looked like things were going to be alright until I got to the back of the university, where the river was gushing over the banks, across the path and into the little wood beyond. One intrepid commuter took off his shoes and socks, rolled up his suit trousers and waded in, giving a sneeky smile to those of us watching him go, but soon coming to regret his rash actions as the water got higher and higher and fast approached his knees.

He stood on tiptoe, but the height of the water increased far faster than the height of his legs, and we all left him to his fate. We turned around and cycled back, all the way along the river and through the reserve, back past home and down a higher, less vulnerable path to the station. I got there in the end, late but dry. I wonder when the wading commuter finally dried out.

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