After the Flood, the Rainbow
The flat is almost back to normal. Worse things happen, I think to myself as I relax on the sofa for the first time in weeks as it is no longer covered in books. And if our upstairs neighbours had never flooded us (twice) then I’d never have met the man who came to clean the carpets, and he’d never have been able to go home and tell his two autistic sons about how he met one of the people who wrote their very favourite CBeebies show. Perhaps someone has been moving in mysterious ways.
I give a contemplative glance heavenwards. Where I am reminded that I still need to get all the bloody ceilings repainted. Truly there is no God, I rage, as I storm off to chase up painters and decorators.
Except... That brown water stain above the bookcase – it looks a bit like... It can’t be. The Virgin Mary? This is fantastic – not only do I not need to paint over it, I can charge admission.
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