Elaine was behind her deadline to sew an Aston Villa strip for Great Uncle Bulgaria, but a neighbour's son had volunteered to wade across and transport her sewing machine to her car, so that she could finish off the job elsewhere. She supplied us with tea and biscuits. The swan gracefully floated in and out of people's back gardens, paying scant attention to property rights, as we paddled in its wake. A man in an upstairs bathroom goggled at the swan being pursued by our canoe, then went back to brushing his teeth, treating the ocean-going garden invasion force as the most natural thing in the world. The temptation to laugh was irresistible.
Rich people make poor victims.
Maidenhead is not exactly Mozambique. The most arresting qualities of a flooded landscape are the enigma variations on the normal. The ordinary, even the boring, becomes remarkable when out of place. A stop sign just above the waves. A park bench, its legs sunken, its slat inches above the slop.