How Strange the Change from Minor to Major?

Almost eleven years ago to the day, we were travelling across London in torrential rain. We were returning from a holiday abroad. Dearest received a phone call as we sat in a taxi that was beginning to resemble a boat. What rain! I listened to his end of the conversation. I could hear "water" and "home" mentioned. I grabbed his arm, "Have her waters broken?"
"No," came the answer, "We've been flooded at home." I breathed a sigh of relief. No worries then. Obviously totally chilled after a good holiday.
We arrived home to a receding tide. Our 9 month pregnant daughter and her paternal grandmother who was living with us at the time, were bailing out water, wringing out towels, orchestrated by my brother who, it has to be said, is someone you want on your team, in the face of a crisis. It had been knee-high but was currently, just a couple of inches. A flash flood. Thank goodness for the home team. It could have been a lot more miserable.
Last week the flood boards that we installed, subsequent to that last debacle, were severely put to the test as the final hours of voting took place. The heavens opened with an Armageddon of a storm. Pathetic fallacy or what? We were soon surrounded by a moat. However, it was not a good time to discover  the door to the Futility room,  replaced two years previously, had not been finished off properly. Water seeped in under the door frame itself. A visiting friend, Anthony (instant canonisation required) helped me on bended knees to mop and bail with every towel I could find, as water flowed over the partly-installed, underfloor heated (or not?) tiled bathroom floor.
You are wondering if I am going to make this into an analogy of some sort? Still not in the mood, actually.
Going to have to buck up, along with the rest of the country and make this thing work somehow.
In the meantime, I'm out to look for some new fluffy towels in readiness for the grand opening and of course, the silent self-closing.