Wednesday, 12 January 2011

Floods

First the fires.  Now the floods. 

I have dear friends - isolated and marooned in their homes - unable to escape by themselves, waiting for the State Emergency Services to rescue them.  Depending on a rescue, when all the time -not knowing if this is possible due to continuing weather conditions.

Such devastation puts everything into perspective.


Our thoughts and prayers are with you, Miller-Carters, those of the Murray Cod stock...xxx

Thursday, 6 January 2011

Aquatic Drones: Good Guys Really

One of the toilets at the Shop wasn't flushing with as much passion as it usually flushes.  On inspection, the Machinist discovered that the submersible pump in Number Two Septic Tank wasn't working and grey water was building up and not seeping away quick enough - therefore, causing a sort of septic regurgitation. 

He came into the kitchen to tell us that he had fixed the problem. "...and Doll, you should see the creatures we have in the septic tanks..."

The three of us looked up, waiting for more information.

"What?"

"The tanks"

"The pumps are  fixed"

"No, the creatures...."

"You don't wanna be lookin'...."

The Kitchen procession began - out of the back door across to the septic tanks. 

Rattailed Maggots and lest you think the tail is - well - the tail.  It's not.  It's their breathing tube.


Wednesday, 5 January 2011

A Bloke's Best Friend

The front lawn had grown beyond recognition. It needed whipper snipper action before a conventional mower could have any effect. Even the path between the lawn and the house had lanky dandelions and grass roots emerging from the soft soil. Time was sparse and the Machinist moved swiftly, swinging his arms from left to right with skill, ravaging the rogue greenery - now bulbous and (almost) bursting with new life. Prolific seeds, waiting anxiously for their marching orders.
Suddenly, a pebble, lifted by the green chord shot up and hit the tall window. A crack, then another. Within seconds, the whole pane fragmented, but held in place.

That night, I heard crackling sounds. They woke me. By morning time, the Machinist had had enough of my ramblings about how the glass in the sliding door might "...suddenly burst and like shrapnel, disperse through our unsuspecting bodies...". He marched outside with bucket and broom, and 'relieved' the heaving pane. Not having enough time to clear up thousands of pieces of glass, the remains lay just outside our bedroom door.... waiting to be swept up 'later on'.

It's quite a few weeks later and the window has not been fixed. Instead, a huge piece of laminated cardboard protects us from the 'elements' (loud birdsong, loud cat crying and loud possum scrapping). On cooler nights, the wind almost whistles as the board flaps.

"Would you check that it's still in place? It sounds as if it's loose..."

The Machinist lifts the curtains to check his handiwork.

"It's fine. I'll get the glass man over tomorrow...Anyway, the Duct Tape's still in place..."