Ok, so maybe the ark didn’t just fit together like a model sail boat. But, really, all the old boy had to do was round up a few breeding pairs, some hay and some grain (for them), enough bread and shrimp paste for sarnies and a box of tea bags (for self) and sail around til the rain stopped.
I don’t recall anything in that story about Noah (or, more likely, Mrs. Noah) having to weild a ruddy great shovel to clear away mud. And they must have had a shovel. For removing the obvious.
I have a shovel. It’s called in the trade a wide-mouth shovel. That’s because it has a big square front. When I say “big” I mean 12″ or 300mm across . You can shift a lot of stuff with this shovel.This is a good thing. Because there is a lot to be shifted.
Gardeners of the old school will know what a spit is. The mud and pebbles and sand blocking this drain was a spit. And as I’ve just told you how big my shovel is…
It was enough to make me spit! This is a drain on neighbouring property.
And this is (some of) what it caused to flood onto our property.
And this is the drain when the builder FINALLY cleared it and replaced the teeny-weeny pebbles with bigger rocks.
Mind you, the silt is building up again because the silly little builder-person (gosh! I’m polite!) has still not addressed the problem of silt from above the drain…
Still, at least I have a big shovel. And a powerful backhand!!!
And I’m a lot luckier than some…
I wonder if Igor Sikorski ever thought his strange craft would be so relied on in the civil sphere? Developed for war and almost mandatory for rescues. You can’t say the same for a tank, can you!
I know some artists have favoured methods for dragging themselves out of their sloughs and slumps. Some go for long walks on windswept beaches; some swear by a pot of Lapsang Souchong. For some, it’s hard liquor or a work-out at the gym.
For me? Well, sometimes a brisk walk helps. Sometimes music. But usually, when the right words are just beyond my grasp the best thing I can do is…something else!
So I’ll leave you with this bit of nonsense, written a few years ago as part of a running joke with a poet friend.
I turned on my p.c. this morning, quite early.
The sun was just rising, the dew drops were pearly.
I stared at the keyboard and waited to hear
The voice of my Muse, whisp’ring soft in my ear.
Nothing.
You can tell that these limping and weak little rhymes
Were never inspired by Musical chimes.
D’you know what I think?I think that my Muse
Has won the Gold Lotto and gone on a cruise!
Has anybody seen my Muse?
