Flood season has started.

We had a cold Spring, and then this past week it has been up to at least 20 C every day.

The first reports of flooding are coming in. A trailer park on Westside Road near Vernon, and also Cache Creek.

I mean: this past week you could practically hear the leaves grow - a very soft unfolding of crumpled waxed paper. I love the particular green of the first leaves. I couldn't see any last week - now there's enough to block sunlight and views.

The flood in Vernon looks like a regular creek just chose to get to the lake by a new route - quickly. If you look at the terrain from afar, you can see that the flat fan of land poking out from the hillside into the lake was formed by water flushing debris down off the steep hill, year after year.

I'm not one to sneer at flat ground (mobility and all), but we really do need to look at where our homes are built.

The *Real* problem with alcohol ...

... is that one drink tastes so very good, and it helps you reach that really lovely place where your muscles are a little loose, but your coordination still works, and your cautionary inner voice is distracted, and you feel that, with a little work, you *might* just be able to articulate that thing that has been floating around in your brain for days, and ...

... you try to chase that perfect moment with another drink. Because the perfect moment is fleeting, and won't stay just on the power of one drink.

And it never works.

The second drink tastes almost as good, and your early perception is that the perfect moment is sustained, but you are deceived. As your feet begin to wobble, so too does your grip on that very very interesting thing.

If you manage to make it to the end of the second drink still believing you are in the perfect moment, then you truly are doomed, because your judgement has been presented with false proof that drinking works. And the next thing you know, you are lamenting on some poor stranger's lapel. Now strangely sticky lapel.

I'm not there. I'm currently privately[1] mourning the waning of the perfect moment.

[1] - except, of course, for you lovely people