Stinking Hot
Today's our second consecutive day of 42 degree weather. Such lung-scorching temperatures inevitably combine with our house's lack of air-conditioning to evaporate my will to live, never mind my will to work. This comes, if you'll pardon the funny, hot on the heels of a public holiday on Monday (no school for the kids, no work for me), so the sum total of useful writing I've done since last Friday is bugger all.
By a strange coincidence 'bugger all since last Friday' also described the progress made by our plumber on fixing the blocked drains. Unable to locate the problem before the weekend, the extra day off on Monday meant all work ceased until Tuesday afternoon. And that meant more shit to deal with.
When I informed one amusing social commentator that I've been shovelling excrement around for the last week, it garnered the response that I should be used to that, having worked in the magazine business for so long. In actual fact, I had gotten used to it, and dousing waste in industrial strength disinfectant before burying it had become relatively normal. Until the mercury topped 40, that is: even the cockroaches started to cross the street to avoid the smell.
At last, our fine pipesman located the cause of the blockage - the roots of a nearby tree had grown into and clogged the system.
'It's rooted!' he chuckled from astride the reeking pit.
Oh, my sides.
Actually, that could have been retching.
Still, it's not just been sewage bubbling away around here - I've had the basis for a new short story fermenting in the back of my head since waking in the middle of the night convinced every item of clothing in the house had been stolen. (That's nothing to do with where the story idea came from, it's just what woke me up). Got the broad strokes down today, now need to think on expanding it - short story or comic strip, for instance. More likely to sell it if it's a strip, but it could go either way.
By a strange coincidence 'bugger all since last Friday' also described the progress made by our plumber on fixing the blocked drains. Unable to locate the problem before the weekend, the extra day off on Monday meant all work ceased until Tuesday afternoon. And that meant more shit to deal with.
When I informed one amusing social commentator that I've been shovelling excrement around for the last week, it garnered the response that I should be used to that, having worked in the magazine business for so long. In actual fact, I had gotten used to it, and dousing waste in industrial strength disinfectant before burying it had become relatively normal. Until the mercury topped 40, that is: even the cockroaches started to cross the street to avoid the smell.
At last, our fine pipesman located the cause of the blockage - the roots of a nearby tree had grown into and clogged the system.
'It's rooted!' he chuckled from astride the reeking pit.
Oh, my sides.
Actually, that could have been retching.
Still, it's not just been sewage bubbling away around here - I've had the basis for a new short story fermenting in the back of my head since waking in the middle of the night convinced every item of clothing in the house had been stolen. (That's nothing to do with where the story idea came from, it's just what woke me up). Got the broad strokes down today, now need to think on expanding it - short story or comic strip, for instance. More likely to sell it if it's a strip, but it could go either way.
posted by Pete Kempshall at 4:36 PM
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