The meteorological gods (Keeley Donovan and the blonde lass who reads the Calendar weather) have decreed that today we shall experience torrential rainfall in the West Yorkshire area.

Word is that precipitation of biblical proportions will rain down on the residents of Bardsey, Wetwang, Heckmondwyke  and customers of the chip shop with a leaky roof in Ainsley Scragg.

Although, technically Wetwang, which isn’t a euphemism or fictional village, is in North Yorkshire. Ainsley Scragg is a fictional village, although bizarrely its chip shop isn’t!!

As I sit here surveying mon jardin, I can confirm Keeley and her ITV rival have their forecast spot on. Rain is unforgivingly bouncing on the glass top of my patio table, and I can’t help but feel relief at being ensconced inside chez Strachan. Not stood queueing for fish cake, chips and scraps at the Ainsley Scragg chip shop.

The torrent of H2O giving my table an unscheduled clean is relentless. To clarify, it is also hitting other parts of my garden not just the table. We haven’t got a freak stratus cloud at the bottom of my garden hovering over my outdoor furniture…… That’s currently above Ainsley Scragg’s chip shop!

My son, who has run a 10k race today, rang me this morning to ask a favour. I was relieved he asked for sponsorship, not to run for him in this godforsaken weather.

My neighbours spoil cat who dines on swan covered in caviar and humus has just appeared in my garden, umbrella in paw. He shakes his head, mouths the words “Balls to this; I’m off back inside!” and exits stage right!

Detached golden leaves lay on my lawn awaiting ingestion from covert predatory worms. The driving water catches the detached foliage, causing some to flip like goldfish panicking when removed from their watery environment.

The worms haven’t appeared yet. I assume they are waiting for a cessation of the storm; either that or they’ve opted for the fish and chip menu at Ainsley Scragg’s chippy for todays lunch.

My wife is currently chatting to her sister on the telephone. The volume of her voice fights with the noise from the rainstorms beating of the bay window. What ensues is a full on battle for audio one-upmanship.

At the minute, I think my wee spouse is just about winning this contest. I don’t know what measure they have to gauge the victor, however, if it’s the first one to make my ears bleed the contest is close to concluding.

The volume being generated has ramped up so much the spoilt cat next door has got their butler banging on the wall in displeasure. I’m assuming it’s a knock of displeasure anyway. Not the butler crashing into the wall while attempting to throttle the swan.

I’ve just heard from my son who has completed his first 10K race. During the call, the first question he proudly asked was “Guess what I did it in, dad?”

Apparently, a taxi wasn’t the right answer!!…… He meant the time!!…… My perennial failure at a nomination for ‘Dad of the Year’ goes on!