I don’t believe it. You’ll recall that we drove through almost every brutal Australian heatwave from Perth to Melbourne a few months back. So hot–and thus so difficult to sightsee and camp–was it that we threw in the sweaty towel at Melbourne and flew ahead to New Zealand. Where it rained. A few days ago, we returned to Australia to pick-up where we left-off and I’m pleased to announce our arrival in Sydney — one of the top five cities that we wanted to see on our travels. And it’s bloody raining. Hard.

As the newspaper clipping indicates that we’re being subjected to a “one-in-a-hundred-year rainfall”. I needn’t remind: we’re camping in a tent. For two days I thought that the canvas was going to collapse and we were going to get drenched. I’m certain that these cheap Aussie (Chinese?) tents aren’t tested in wet conditions during the design stage–why would they be, it never rains–and I find my self having to get out of my sleeping bag to poke a finger vertically in the centre of our ‘porch’ to disperse the pail of rainwater collecting in the fly sheet a few x- and y-axis inches from our heads.

Inside the tent, we’re still only damp. Unnecessarily going outside is out of the question. So hard is the rain, that last night I had to usher a racoon out from our porch; poor blighter was only trying to stay dry and snaffle a bit of food. The communal camping facilities, toilet and outdoor kitchen, are as you’d imagine — muddy and slippery beyond belief.

Worse still, this morning we packed the tent away. Yes, is was still raining and yes, the tent was absolutely filthy. In a stroke of genius, Squiffy donned her bikini and I followed suit (with my bathers, that is). No point getting our clean clothes wet and dirty is there? The tent’s fly sheet was way too muddy to fold up and bag. Had we had done this, the relatively clean inner-tent would have been ruined by the storm. Instead of packing away the tent in a calm, controlled and methodical fashion we laid out our car’s sun visor across the back seats and literally threw it in. No doubt our car’s going to stink of wet, muddy nylon for weeks to come, but that’s not our concern today. Today, we just want to get out of this campsite and into our friend’s apartment a half-hour’s drive away.

A teary Squiffy has described this morning as the “worst day of travelling, ever“. Travelling’s not all milk and honey: spare a thought for us as you sit on your comfy sofa, drinking hot chocolate, watching your flat-screen TV whilst the rain hammers down outside*. I’m thinking of setting up a charitable fund to provide emergency housing for us when we hit our next “freak, one-in-a-hundred-year weather abnormality”. Anyone care to donate a fiver? (Cue abusive “at least you’re not working, you ungrateful blob”-style comments below…)

I’m convinced that these storms are a result of global warming. And there’s more to come.

* As a point of note, my mother comments that it hasn’t rained in Wales in over three weeks to date.

(The gallery photos were taken on subsequent days.)

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