Yes, here we are again, worrying about the ****ing damn. Gale-force winds have been tearing branches off trees, one such is lodged in the outflow pipe, the water, thick with mud, is right up to the top of the dam, six inches above the pipe itself, and we can’t see what we’re doing. At least quite a lot of the water is getting out, but not quite as much as of it as it should. Torrential rain is forecast, so we will have to hope for the best. We were poking at it with rakes and so forth, trying to snag the pine branch at such an angle that it could be pulled free (neither of us fell in, I am happy to say), when Miss Kit decided to contribute her ha’porth. Having paddled gamely through the waters streaming round the side of the dam, it suddenly struck her that in order to get back to dry land she would have to do it again, at which point she stood on a tiny island in the flood, a small animal entirely surrounded by water, and screamed the place down. Since at this point the Professor was at a perilous angle, rake in hand, while I, up to my ankles in mud, was clutching his other hand and leaning backwards, I was not in a position to do anything about Miss Kit’s self-created problemette for quite some time; with the result that when I did, she glowered at me and and rushed up a tree, just to show me. We heartlessly took the dogs off for a walk in the last of the light, and left her to get herself down which, since it came on to rain, she did.