The Police, not our trusted Men in Blue -because, apart from the odd one here and there, I doubt that we have Men in Blue left. That other Police, as in the band, recorded a song called Message in a Bottle, and in it they repeat the phrase: I’m sending out an S O S exactly 25 times, Aunty Google tells me.

So, this is it, Guys. I am sending out an S O S, and if you like, I can repeat it more than 25 times.

You see, the problem is this. Somewhere out there beneath the pale moonlight (according to Linda Ronstadt), there is a person praying for rain. I need you to find that person. And I need you to tell them that they can say AMEN now.

Having had – I have been told, 127mm of rain dumped on us in a 24-hour period, I simply can’t stand yet another rainy day. And I am not alone. Every time I want to feel sorry for myself, I think of the people in Libya. I streamed an Al Jazeera broadcast today, and in it the reporters touched on what could have led to that disaster. The poor infrastructure, the lack of maintenance which lead to the collapse of some dams. Then I look to my own country, and my Black Dog tells me that we are only moments away from that level of collapse in this country. But then, to put things into perspective for me, that other Great Country – you know the one where the streets are paved with cheese, and there are no cats either (according to Fievel, the Russian mouse, who ends up in America). Well, they were doing back stroke down Park Avenue.

Colin commented the other day. There is a difference between being isolated and alone. I think what he was trying to say is that right now, we are completely alone. And we are. The N2 National Highway that runs past our little farmhouse, has all but washed away and is completely closed to all traffic. We are in the middle of this most surreal silence now. Oh, that must be nice, Oldest Son said. You are surely so much closer to nature now. And yes, we are. In this complete silence, birds seem to chirp louder, you can all but hear snails gliding by, I believe I could even hear ants marching, frogs click louder, and wait for it: sitting outside on Sunday, the call of the Fish Eagle pair that is around, called louder. There is something about the call of a Fish Eagle. It is the sound of Africa. I wish I had a way of recording those lovely birds. My cell phone, hastily grabbed, did not do it justice.

But not all of the nature we are so close to now, is that majestic. On Saturday, with nothing to do, and nowhere to go, we decided to do a good spring clean. Colin tackled our bedroom and came upon a frog and a slug. Remember I told you: Old houses may be beautiful, but man-oh-man, do they get damp. Damp enough for frogs to move in. We also have an endless stream of “Shongololos” walking through the living room. These little millipedes, scientifically know as Jurus terrestris, are so common in South Africa. On Saturday I declared them Enemy Number One. Sweep those things out Colin, I said. But, Colin ventured, they are Shongololos. We like them. No, we don’t. This half of “we” has had it with them curling up and dying on the bathroom floor, where I step on them in the dark.

This morning – our drive into Hermanus used to be a 30km drive, but thanks to road closures, is now a 110km drive, we turned onto the deserted N2, only to stop dead in our tracks. There, in the middle of the road, was a Hare. Well, the look he gave us! Surely, we know that no 4-wheeled traffic is allowed on this road, and that it is now for the exclusive use of nature? The hare gave up and hopped away on his very long and skinny legs, with his equally long and skinny ears flapping about. We did not get far before we had to stop for Guinea Fowl. Not one or two, but an entire village of Guinee’s out for a fun run. Once we passed the first traffic stop – where we get stopped every time to remind us of road closures, we had to stop again! This time for Blue Cranes. What is it with all this wildlife taking over the road? Please! Bring the traffic back.

I often tell those around me that share my spiritual views, that God talks to us. Even today, He does. Some false advertising led some folks to believe that you need a burning bush or to convince your first born to be sacrificed, to hear God’s voice. No, you don’t. All you need to do to hear his voice is to slow down and listen. I also know (from previous experience) that when you fail to hear God’s voice, He has a way of getting your attention. Again, speaking from experience.

On Saturday, I did ask God: Why, when you are spoiled for location, did you choose our entrance to dump all your mighty rain on? What did I do to deserve this? And gradually, it dawned on me. Just maybe God has been nudging me, trying to get my attention and I ignored all the messages. Just maybe God had to shout to get my attention. Because you see, just maybe He is trying to tell me something.

So here it is. Here I am, Lord. Is it I, Lord? I heard you calling in the night.

But, before we get into what it is God wants to say to me, can someone please go and find that person who is still praying for rain, and ask them very pretty please, to STOP.