The Watery End of English Democracy

In Berlin, and Brandenburg generally it's been raining fiercely for most of July. There are news pictures of water pouring along rivers, various other large waterways, culverts, ditches, drains, water being powerfully pumped to drainage areas and away from settlements and off roads, of railway lines being cleared and checked; houses that have flooded basements are pumped dry at once and flood protected. Indeed, flood protection is everywhere, swinging into place with practiced swiftness. Huge tracked vehicles rescue any unfortunates caught in flash floods in spite of all this. People move about in waders and wellies, raincoats and waterproofs. But it's just a wet July.

The news readers and reporters speaking over the extraordinary scenes broadcast from England are simply incredulous; do they intend to just do nothing in the hope the water will go away? they ask. Cameras linger horrified on people barefoot, wading through sewage and oil contaminated flood water, rather as if they are going for a paddle. Whole towns completely cut off are surveyed from the air without a sign of any kind of intervention; occasional, histrionic helicopter lifts are filmed. In solemn voices it is recounted that this town, or village has no fresh water, no power, and no means of getting in or out. The attitude of the flood victims is a source of wonder and put down to the famous English stiff upper lip. Almost no civil disaster operations have been put in place, worse weather is forecast for this weekend. Where will it all end? They may well ask. It has all already ended in a pool of tears.