Reflections on a damp day!

Another rainy Saturday morning! Looking back over the last few weeks, we have not really had much serious rain. We have had damp days, when the very air seemed to have water hanging in it, and drizzly days, but not many pelting down, big-chief-rain-in-your-face rainy days. A fair amount must have fallen during the night because everything was extremely soggy by the time I was out and about this morning. 

Further up the road from our house, where successive re-surfacings seem to have raised the actual road to the level of the pavements and consequently there is no proper gutter for water to run down, a veritable river ran along the pavement. Running in the rain is one thing; running through a river is much more miserable! However, I did run and came back from the village with a rather soggy newspaper. 

The weather has not improved since then. I almost feel sorry for the workmen who are re-surfacing the road outside our house. It's probably not so bad for the men who drive the huge, noisy machines but for those who stand around directing operations and moving traffic cones about it must be pretty horrid. I have little real sympathy though. The noise of the machinery reverberates through the house far too much for me to feel truly sorry for them. 

We have been a little surprised to find them re-surfacing around here at all but we suspect that this is the usual dash to use up any outstanding local authority money before the end of the financial year. Use it or lose it! If you have any let over at the end of the year, they don't let you carry it over. Oh, no, that amount of cash is cut from the next year's allocation. 

Speaking of cuts, a friend of mine has commented on a man who shouted "No ifs, no buts, no public sector cuts!" at David Cameron and has been ordered to carry out 100 hours of community service. This took place sometime last year in Glasgow where David Cameron was making a speech to a Conservative Party meeting of some kind. Granted the young man who shouted had hidden himself in the toilets of the building so that he could get into what was a private meeting. And he had form, having thrown paint at a politician during a student protest of some kind. But there are those who might say that by protesting about public sector cuts the young man had already done his community a service! 

A woman called Helen Morrissey has come to my attention in today's soggy newspaper. CEO of some company or other, she has 9 children, aged 6 to 23. She has been a busy lady! Her husband is a stay-at-home dad and Buddhist priest. With nine children around, even if the older ones are able to share his burden, I expect he really does need to meditate from time to time. She, meanwhile, still is a busy lady whose average day starts at 5 am and finishes at 11pm. I am tempted to ask why she does it? There are so many in the family that they sometimes text each other from room to room to find out where everyone is. Nicky Morgan, Education Secretary and minister for women says, "Women like Helen Morrissey are an absolute inspiration. She is a role model to millions and a shining light of what can be achieved." 

A number of questions spring to mind. 

Why did she choose to have so many children? Especially as she must rarely see them except for when the family gathers for a film on Saturday, according to the newspaper article. And why do they not do something more interactive than passively watching a film together? And where do they all sit? And do they have a home cinema unit? 

How did she manage to get up to her CEO position in between being pregnant and giving birth to children? I have always been amazed at the idea of women having so many children that they must have spent years and years either pregnant or just-delivered of a child. Babies can be delightful but surely you can have too much of a good thing. 

Is there also a minister for men in the government? Of course, I know all the arguments about positive discrimination and so on but surely in this age of equality the chaps should be represented as well. 

Does Helen Morrissey ever relax and how? 

Do women really want a role model like that? 

These are the things that go through your head on wet days!