Dead bikes and drowned rats

This post should really have a picture, but my poor phone camera couldn't cope with the deluge.  This week needed a 30 mile ride (to add to the 16 and 23 earlier in the week), and Friday evening was the only free time.  Undeterred by the torrential rain (well, a little bit wimpy, but determined) I dropped the daughters to gymnastics for a few hours and headed out on the A27.  After a couple of miles, and the third head-to-foot drenching by a large lorry, I might has well have been cycling in a river. For the next 2 1/2 hours the rain and wind didn't let up at all, and it became a battle of my pig-headedness against the weather.  I refused to turn back until I hit 15 miles, although when I took a wrong turn and started to get lost on country lanes with 2 feet of running water, I actually turned back round after 13.5 miles.  Arrived back at the sports centre with only 27 miles on the clock, so kept going for a 3 mile loop around Hamble to make sure I did my 30.  However, rather stupidly I hadn't brought a change of clothes, so spent the next hour waiting for the girls to finish training, dripping wet, freezing half to death and running pools of water all over the gym floor.  Even a scrounged cup of tea and a borrowed sweatshirt couldn't get the feeling back in my hands and feet, and I have never been so grateful for a hot bath as I was for the one I finally got 5 hours after setting off in the downpour!
My poor bike, which has been coping so well, decided that it really was too old and tired for this sort of abuse, and I had 3 chain seize-ups during the 30 mile ride, and now it clunks, squeaks and slips whenever I ride it.  Emergency measures needed I think!