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Taking it for Granted

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You would need to have been hibernating with the smart animals not have have noticed the fact that it has been a bit cold lately. As is customary in this part of the world, the moment we have what is called ‘an extreme weather event’ we seem to go into complete meltdown (no pun intended).

The nation ran out of salt as the Minister responsible for such issues basked in the Maltese sunshine. Our roads froze and the local hospitals ran out of Plaster of Paris. In fact they say if you take a bitter risk and pop your head outside for more than a minute you will definitely hear the snapping of at least one bone somewhere in the vicinity.

I only just got off the phone to my friend who lives in Chicago after regaling her with stories of the deep freeze of 2010. She interupted me rudely and commented on the fact that, living in Chicago, she experiences conditions far worse that we are currently suffering and yet still manages to be at her desk at 8.30 each morning. I asked her if she had experience anything similar to a desert drought with regards flowing water and she asked me if I was mad.

About three days ago I got up and prepared for my morning shower. Turning on the unit, my beloved power shower burst into action but no water came out. After a little bit of investigation I quickly realised that water was no longer flowing into the house. I tried another shower which is connected to a tank in the attic and had the most delightful soak on an arctic Friday morning.

Two hours later it became apparent that not only had water stopped flowing into the house but my tank reserves were empty and obviously not replenishing. And so the fun began. For the first time in my life I realised just how much I have taken the novelty of free flowing water for granted. I am living alone in a sort of hell at the moment. Anything I use to cook with cannot be washed afterwards. I cannot wash my clothes. I cannot shower. Shaving is not an option.

On Saturday night I went to a friend’s 30th birthday party and had a few too many. I got home and landed in bed waking up yesterday morning with a rip roaring hangover and a mouth with the texture of an elephant’s hide. I staggered downstairs with the aim of filling myself with a tank of water filled with effervescent vitamin tablets. I had forgotten about the drought. I searched high and low for some form of liquid to settle my parched tongue and had to be content with some leftover white lemonade from Christmas which seemed to only make things worse leaving me with a buildup of thick saliva at the back of my throat. I just had to bear the elements and make my way to the supermarket to stock up with bottled water.

So thirst dealt with I am now on day 4 of having no flowing water. The kitchen, my favourite place, is like a bomb site which makes my seasonal affective disorder all the more controlling. But worse, far worse. There is no water flowing into my toilet cisterns.

What can one do in such a situation? A man has got to do what a man has got to do. I am lucky in the fact that I have a rather large garden with plenty of icy foliage. I have now resigned myself to the fact that every time I feel the urge ‘to go’, I wrap up warm, put on my brothers wellington boots and head down the garden behind an evergreen and supply the soil with what I believe are good nutrients. I have yet to pick up the courage to squat behind same evergreen and dispatch some even better nutrients. Without being crude, I feel one brewing. It looks like I could be making a midnight visit to the bottom of my garden to make a deposit in the freezing fog. This is the closest to Neanderthal as it gets.

Oh, did I mention the fact that my fridge freezer has stopped working?

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