Wednesday, 17 October 2007
The Dark Side
Listening to: My Brain is Hanging Upside Down (Ramones)
Weather: Bright sunshine, light wind
Lunch: sausage sandwich and PG Tips
It has not been a good 24 hours. Last night I came closer than I ever have before to admitting this was a huge mistake and I'm so far out of my depth I should give up paddling and slink back to the Midlands.
Nothing, but nothing, seems to go right first time and it has become very wearing. On top of the catalogue of breakages - which I could live with - came clear evidence that I have broken a mirror or two, run over a black cat, walked under ladders, not to mention being born on the 13th.
I had spent a productive day preparing a soakaway area behind the barn which should solves a lot of our drainage problems. I was looking forward to lowering my aching carcass into a deep, possibly smelly, bath.
I turned the taps. . . nothing. Sod it! Sod it! Sod it! The pressure had gone again. A small, steady flow was coming out of the cold tap, but nothing out of the hot.
I swore loudly, several times. Thought for a moment and swore again, and a couple more times for luck. Not much I could do except eat my tea, watch a bit of telly, read my book and get to bed, having had a nice cold wash in the sink - just like being back at school.
I settled down in front of the devil's lantern, presses the button on the remote control and was plunged into darkness. The swearing reached world class levels.
My first reaction was, of course that something disastrous had happened in the fuse box, but a quick look out of the window confirmed that there were no lights on the whole island. I went in search of candles, but away from the window it was pitch black. I stumbled about trying to find the candles, but had no idea where to look (feel?).
The organisation of household usefuls is normally Mrs Trainee Pig Farmer's department, so I thought I'd give her a call. Got my mobile out and, sure enough, there was no signal. The power failure must have affected the mast as well. So, it was a case of blundering through into the kitchen to the landline, falling over the cat in the process.
"They're in the cupboard under the stairs of course," said Mrs TPF, the sound of ice clinking in a gin and tonic in the background, telly on, presumably a selection of electric lights illuminating the proceedings. She'd probably had a bath as well.
"Oh, right," said I, feeling a little foolish, then blathering something about not being able to see in the dark.
I rummaged around under the stairs and eventually found a couple, fumbled around after some matches and got back into the front room where I was now able to light a fire and, in fairness, it was cosy sitting there reading in the flickering light.
At some stage I dropped off, waking only at about 2am when the lights, radio and TV all came back on.