So the show is over and Ophelia has left the building.
I’m still astounded that we never lost power which is usually the first thing to go. It must be because I went to the trouble of digging out the old camping stove and setting it up on the kitchen table. Strangely enough, the one after effect is that we have no water today. I can manage without that for a while, provided I have enough to make my mug of tea.
One of the main talking points yesterday and today is the actions of some people around our coasts. The one message that filled the air yesterday was to stay indoors. In particular, people were urged to stay well away from the coast and cliffs which was sensible enough. However there were many reports of people going swimming at the height of the storm. Photographs were shown of people walking out on piers and jetties trying to get that all important “selfie” to stick on the all important Farcebook. .
Herself tells me that the radio today is full of calls about these idiots. They quite rightly are making the point that every rescue puts the rescuer’s life at risk. Everyone is screaming the inevitable – Something Must Be done. Naturally a couple of our illustrious leaders want to criminalise the act of “endangering rescue personnel” or some such crap, with consequent fines. What is rather worrying is that in a poll, 90% of people think that here should be “criminal proceedings” or a fine.
Gubmint method: Every problem can be solved with a tax or fine [and they seem to have convinced the sheeple as well].
I completely disagree. People who go swimming, kite surfing or canoeing at the height of a storm are putting their lives at risk, and consequently risking the lives of any would be rescuer. The solution is blindingly simple – don’t rescue them. If they get into trouble then that is their own stupid fucking fault. Let them drown. When a Code Red wind warning has been declared, that should mean that all air-sea rescue service will be available only to craft with more than one occupant such as fishing vessels or other vessels which may have been at sea when the storm hit.
I’m sure the rescue services would be happy with that.
And it would remove a lot of stupidity from the gene-pool.
The meeja here are working themselves up into a fierce frenzy altogether.
There is a bit of a wind coming so naturally the entire country is closing down. Schools are closed, airports are closed. Buses are only going to run when they feel like it [no change there, so?]. We are to nail everything to the ground and stay indoors. The army, the navy and the air force are on standby. The nation is huddled in a corner with its collective head between its collective knees kissing its collective arse goodbye.
Yes – Hurricane Ophelia has arrived.
I suppose there is a certain level of excitement. Normally we just hear about hurricanes over the other side of the pond, but at last we have one of our very own. The trouble is that because it’s the first we have experienced, the Powers that Be haven’t a clue what to expect. Even the weather forecasters admitted that. They just don’t know.
We have been warned not to go anywhere and to remove anything that may become a potential airborne missile [what?]. Naturally I took all the important stuff indoors and put all my rubbish up on the roof. That’ll save on the price of a skip?
But seriously, lads! It’s only a bit of wind? What can possibly go wro
I spent a fair chunk of yesterday working on one of my most favourite jobs.
For the last few weeks the anticipation has been building as the hints that something was amiss were becoming more frequent and more urgent. Things reached a point yesterday when the alarm bells rang and I realised that while they say it may be better to travel than to arrive, that I had, in fact, arrived .
Time to clean out the sewers again.
This is a job I have to do maybe once a year. Up until about a decade or so ago, there wasn’t a problem but then something changed. One theory is that we got the bathroom redone a while back including one of those “water saver” toilet cisterns. Maybe it just doesn’t have the oomph to clean the pipes thoroughly after a good crap? The other theory is that maybe my cooking has improved to the point where it makes enemas redundant. Neither us us have suffered from constipation in a very long time.
I confess there are some downsides to the job. There is the necessity to run a hose through the house without spilling water all over the place. The is the hacking, weeding and tree felling that has to be done before I can even get into the back yard and then there is of course that distinct odour that permeates everywhere and everything.
Anyhows I felled a couple of ash trees that were growing there and ripped tons of ivy off the back door so I could open it, and I set to work.
I won’t go into the details of the process as it is the stuff of nausea and dry vomiting but there is one thing that I really look forward to. That is the moment when all my poking and prodding of the gelatinous mass bears fruit and it all goes merrily sailing down the pipes with the most wonderful sound.
It’s the sound that intrigues me. It’s very difficult to describe. It’s a sort of slurpongongong noise with the most amazing echo that reverberates around the system. I can only describe it as the most hollow sound I know as it sounds like a plunger entering a vast cavernous pit of hell. If I didn’t know better I would swear the house is built over a cave system rivalling the Carlsbad Caverns. In reality it’s probably the hole that the neighbours draw their pumped water supply from but that doesn’t diminish the magic of the sound.
One of these years I must record it. Maybe I can programme a music synthesiser to use it as the base sound. I could produce wonderful symphonies and concertos all based on the sound of the sewage system. Offenbach’s “Orpheous in the Underworld” could take on a whole new life? Mendelssohn’s “Fingal’s Cave” could resonate in its full glory?
Damn! Why didn’t I think of that yesterday?
Now I can’t wait for the toilet to start backing up again.