I am a bit of fan of Mark Furler and his weekly column.

I sometimes agree with what point he is making while on other occasions I strongly disagree. We are from completely different backgrounds but I value his opinion, whether I agree or not.

Now this week he was writing about “bloody idiots” driving around during the recent floods and I think he was on the money.

Sadly though, I was guilty of being one of those bloody idiots last Friday when the floods were at their peak.

No, I wasn’t driving around gawking at other peoples’ misfortunes but I did cause a few problems, albeit only for myself.

It all started when I had to attend a late afternoon meeting in Buderim and it was absolutely pouring when I arrived at the residence perched on the side of the mountain.

It all went okay, I managed to get in and out without getting totally saturated but as I was driving off I remembered I forgot to tell the occupant of the house something so I turned around and went back.

Now by the time I got back old mate was backing his car out at the bottom of his driveway and told me to come down to the sanctuary of the garage.

The rain had somehow intensified and spotting the exposed aggregate driveway I tried to make my way down carefully, but of course I went arse up and slid down the slope using the back of my head and my elbow as a braking device that brought me to a halt at the feet of my host.

Now his house is on the eastern slope of Buderim and at the time I did feel like I was going to end up in Wises Farm.

So by the time I picked myself up I was completely saturated, I passed on what seemed quite frivolous information after what had just happened and then tried to walk back up the driveway but was no chance.

At the time I clearly remember thinking “give me my flat block in the Bronx anytime”, so old mate had to open his house back up so I could get to my car.

By this time I was not only wet but bleeding as well, which all went well with the cloth seats in my car. It “felt” like I was sitting on a dish cloth.

So my visit ‘On Buderim’ was over and I can only blame possible concussion from my fall for deciding to go down Crosby Hill on my way back to the Bronx at Wurtulla.

You would think that someone that has lived here all his life would know that the road is flood-prone, but alas I overlooked that point until I got to the bottom of the hill.

Granted there was one car crossing but it was a four-wheel drive, so my brain finally kicked in and I tried to do a 30-point turn to avoid getting the car bogged.

But before I could pull off such a clever manoeuvre a car had pulled up behind me so that I couldn’t back up.

So down with the window, (adding another inch of water in my car) to explain to them that no I wasn’t going to attempt the rapids and could they back up and let me out of there.

So finally I get down safely off the hill and decide that after such a harrowing experience I need a beer to calm my nerves, so I pull up at a BWS to get a stubby to drink when I get home.

What do you reckon, the beer fridge has broken down and all they have is hot.

So after another inch of water in my car I eventually find a shop with cold beer and get home – one more hazard off the road.

By this time it is about 7pm and it was still pouring.

The dog met me at the gate wanting to go for a walk.

What the heck, I thought I am already wet, so off we went.

There we were, both of us bloody idiots, out there in the rain.

Looking back, I guess it’s lucky the dog can’t drive.