So, about a month ago, I mocked Melbourne's attempt at a flash flood. Melbourne, it would seem, is of the revenge is best served cold school of thought. Today, after a month of plotting and planning, she struck.
Originally there was a forecast of rain for today — I believe the phrase was "chance of thunderstorms".
Thunderstorms my left butt cheek.
Tessa has the story of our fleeing the State Library into the teeth of that storm, because we figured, between the clamour of the hail and the klaxons of the library's evacuation alarms, writing wasn't going to happen.
Turns out getting home wasn't going to happen either, at least not easily. The trains got me close to work, where I'd left my car, but the roads were impassable: those that weren't sunk under flooding from the rain that had nowhere to go were clogged with traffic. Stationary traffic. Walking wasn't any easier.
For a while I simply stood on the corner of Alexandra Avenue and Yarra St, staring at the bridge that used to span a road but had now graduated to spanning a river proper, and watching the cars trying to navigate their way down that river which used to be a road. Here's a hint, kids: engines? Are not made to combust water. Don't try it.
I saw cars limping past with bumpers and chassis striking sparks from the roads, semi-drowned trams, and a girl running her basket of freshly-washed laundry through the downpour.
At least this time I'd learnt my lesson and I had an umbrella. Not that it helped much.