andy flood

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“I’m trying very hard not to see all this as a metaphor for my life.”

“Shut up,” Louis said, holding both his hands over the leak in the water pipe under the bathroom sink. The water spurted out from between his fingers, soaking his t-shirt and his hair and his tracksuit bottoms. it didn’t make much difference, they were both soaked from head to foot in leaking water, but at least Louis looked like a giant scruff bag approximately 95% of the time already. Nick had liked these trainers. And these jeans were new. The blue had probably leaked through the jeans and his legs would be stained a revolting denim colour for the rest of forever, and none of this was his fault. 

Nick was miserable. And wet. 

“Are you trying the plumber again?” Louis asked, managing to kick Nick in the ankle even though he was kneeling in two inches of water. 

“It’s going to voicemail,” Nick said miserably. He rang his brother instead, who picked up with a fairly grumpy, it’s the middle of the night, Nick. Something better be on fire. “Flat’s flooded,” he said.

“Aw, what?” Andy asked. “What happened?”

“Well, you know the flat? It’s flooded.”

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UNITED KINGDOM, Dumfries : A woman sits inside a Chinese Restaurant watching floodwater race by the window in Dumfries, southern Scotland, on December 30, 2015 after heavy rainfall brought by Storm Frank.
Storm Frank battered Scotland leaving thousands of homes without power and severe floods in its wake. AFP PHOTO / Andy Buchanan