My Water .....

No. It's OK. I'm not going to start banging on about my own urinary doings, for chris'sake! It's the stuff that wasn't coming out of my tap in the first place. It's back on now. Has been since probably less than a week since I mentioned it'd gone off.

And then ~ if ye keep ye eye on this place, ye'll have read ~ I farted, drenched my fucking self, and have never looked at le Ding in quite the same light since!

Getting it sussed now though. See what ye think of this .....

Had Dean O' round a while back. Some point between all that drama and now. Being a Plumber, I s'pose it was natural enough for him to enquire after my water supply. I said it was back and fine. " Look. " I said. Holding a handy pint glass under the thing and turning on the tap.

Great gulp. Gush. Bang! Water everywhere. But I victoriously held up a full pint glass of ..... well, I was content to accept it was 'Water', anyway. Made my fucking tea with it every morning. Just before I felt this over powering urge to rush out to the ditch. Even had the odd brew of a evening. Just before I farted and ..... Oh, no. We've done that one.

" Ye'll want to be filtering that, so? " Said Dean 'O. (Over here, 'So' is used, at the end of a sentence, much as you might use 'Then'. I don't know the proper, grammatical term for it. Bit like a statement made as a half question. You'd have likely said, " ... filtering that, then? ")

And, I suppose ye would. Or ringing the council, the papers, Sky News, ye fucking mother. Because here's what I had a glass of:




And, yeppers; That glass is clean. And that's my hand behind it. My fingers wrapped around the other side of it. Touching the glass. Can't exactly see through that 'water', can ye? 'Melted Slush' come to mind, maybe?

I've been Drinking that shit, since the water came back on. Till I thought about it. And farting out my 'Precious Bodily Fluids'.

Making my tea with bottled water again now. Guts are fine, thank you.

No Water .....

The water died, last night. Pretty much 'Just like that'. Did a Tommy Cooper on me. I hit the tap and nothing came out.

Not sure what to make of it. Better make something of it, I suppose? I'll need five gallons or so, just to keep the horses alive. Their water having gone dry a couple of days or so back. I presumed that was due to the feed pipe having frozen.

Already made a note to myself to find some of that foamy stuff one lags pipes with. I don't fancy another bout of crawling, on my hands and knees, dragging a five gallon Jerry Can of water down there.

Oh yeah. I've been doing that already. Had to put my knee pads and gloves on and crawl about thirty yards, dragging a fucking bottle of water for them. Nothing else for it. Ice, ye see? I go over on that shit and smash something; What happens?

Reach into my top pocket and 'Call Someone'. Work it out: 'Ditch has called. He's flat out, in his compound. Broken something and is laying in the ice. Dogs are loose. We know those fuckers. They'll be on the defensive. Have to shoot them to get at him.'

I Think Not! Sooner fucking lay there and die than listen to any cunt blowing my fucking Dogs away as they try to stand guard over me!

That shouldn't be about to happen though. I just have no water. Bastard of a situation. Had to make my bit of gravy with beer, tonight. 'Fed' Chain Dog a chunk of ice, taken from Rats bowl, outside. Just about to go out and fetch what ever's left in that bowl, to see them through the 'night'. Till I pry myself out of bed later on. And figure out what to do next.

Burst pipe, I imagine? Water expands as it turns to ice, doesn't it? Thaws, and then pisses out of the split it's made? And my water comes from a local reservoir of some sort. Underground well, I shouldn't wonder.

I believe Noel's responsible for our water here. Haven't got his number. Have to ring Pat' then. See what he knows. If his phone's turned off? Have to walk up there. Lock the Dogs in and try to figure out how food can be slung to them, lest I slip on the ice out there and end up in Sligo.

Brian Plummer could have wrote similar to this, of course. I've never read his " Cottage At The End Of The ..... ", which ever it was. But, I feel a sense of understanding. How it's everyone's dream to live, alone, in the middle of no where. Just you and ye Dogs.

'Tis, to be honest with ye. I wouldn't change my life style for ..... well; Life! But, it has its moments. Like when the damn tap runs dry and ye have nowhere else to go.