No disasters reported in Ingham. But many will have suffered mental distress, physical discomfort and worse, and severe material losses. Their collective suffering makes the news. All sympathy to them.
But a blogger mostly confined to a caravan best stick to the personal, recognising that solipsism rules.
Housing first. A matter of centimetres. Waters reached to 2cm below caravan door last night. Rose slightly, fell slightly. All this, as the rain belted down (perhaps 300mm in 12 hours). But the total flood area is now so great a 30cm fall - in a narrow band - is swallowed and levels just creep up. So, housing dry, no worries. Food? Enough. No worries.
Car? Parked in crowded, swamped driveway outside park owners' residence. Not floating, no leaks. No worries. Personal gear? Anything of value, high and dry. No worries. Other stuff will survive soaking. No worries. No insurance (because live in caravan). No worries.
Let's get to the worries.
What say I get Alzheimer's because there's no Times cryptic crosswords to stop my brain tangles knotting even further.
If I don't cycle daily the right leg will lose muscle tone and the bung knee will have an orthopaedic surgeon hovering above it like a vulture.
What about watching 10's liar-spotter nonsense drama last night because ABC transmission pixilated? Such guilt stress can cause all sorts of illness.
Could cabin fever lead me to do an Oates and tell the cockroaches as I go: 'I may be a while'? (recent TV skit: Scott made up comment after cannibalism).
As you see, there's a lot to worry about! This post starts in serious vein and ends tapped into an artery of flippancy and black humour. Reverting to type.
What matters? 'To thine own self be true'? No matter, truth will ever out!
Unrelated closer: not often I come across a gag in my pictures. I offer this Straw-necked Ibis for nonprize caption competition.
