It's a ten minute job, right, installing a water butt to collect rain
water? Wrong. It should be. It's an ecologically friendly thing to do, it's
good for the planet, so it should be simple.
But I failed to reckon with a basic fact of life. The back of the shed
is, of course, the place for all those things that you might just need one day.
They can be stored there, out of sight and out of mind, which is where I nearly
was when I took a look at the proposed site for my newly acquired rain butt.
It's a mixture of jungle, scrapyard and rubbish tip back there. Out of
sight and enclosed on three sides, it's a repository for so much…stuff. So,
before I can attach the guttering to collect the water from the roof, I have to
clear a space. The
wheel barrow and the two plastic sacks of compost, one
opened to rejuvenate the potted umbrella plant that's resided in the living
room for 20 years, is simple enough. Then I discover that some helpful
neighbourhood bird has deposited a cherry stone in the fertile soil back there.
The result is a huge cherry tree that I'd never noticed, since it's doing a
twisting dance with nextdoor's unidentifiable tree and the lower branches of my
rather magnificent eucalyptus tree. It's no good. It has to be removed. But,
before I can take the hand saw close enough to cut the trunk, I have to clear
the fallen leaves of the past ten years. Now the
compost bin is almost full of
leaf mould, so that's a bonus for the garden later on.
The trunk is exposed and I take the saw to it. It's a relatively simple
task and I drag the weed equivalent of a tree onto the
lawn to lie; a sorry
trophy until I can deal with it. Next, there's a large slab of rough concrete.
It weighs about seven tons and measures forty foot by thirty five. Well, okay,
I admit that's an exaggeration, but that's what it feels like when I try to
shift it. And shift it I must, otherwise every time I approach the spot where
the water butt will stand, I'll fall base over apex over this errant lump of
concrete. What's it doing there anyway? Well, last year, whilst preparing the
ground for the gravelled turning bay at the front of the house, I came across
this flat topped lump of concrete that had once served some unknown function
for the previous occupier. I managed to raise it and somehow placed it into the
wheelbarrow without actually breaking my back, though it did rather bend the
wheelbarrow. There was nowhere for it to go, so it ended up behind the shed.
That's what you call 'planning', you see. So, now it has to be moved. But there
is no other out of the way place for it to go, except, if I do a little bit of
clearance, I reckon I can slide it underneath the shed, which is raised off the
ground on bricks.
Before I can shift the concrete block, I need to clear away the things
that are in the way of me sliding it out of the way. So, there's a small sack
of white edging gravel I bought to make the
patio look pretty. I'll need that
for when I relay the patio later on, so it comes out to sit on the lawn. Then I
discover I'd secreted a couple of those enormous plastic containers they
deliver sand and gravel in, you know the things that hold around a cubic metre
of product and that they never want back. One time only use; now there's an
environmentally friendly use of plastic! So, they come out to join the growing
pile of rubbish on the back lawn. I disturb about fifteen thousand spiders,
some pretty fearsome and large, and an equal number of woodlice. Next, I come
across the metal frame of an old garden bench that I'd intended repainting and
refilling with wooden slats, so we might sit on it on the patio on sunny days.
It consists of a couple of cast iron decorative ends joined together by a long
metal rod. The original wood rotted away years ago. I figure if I haven't
re-used it by now, I probably never will. Onto the lawn it goes.
There's a pile of mixed bricks, paving and household, along with some
flat slabs of York stone that once formed a small feature and now lie awaiting
a new lease of life. Too good to chuck out. But in the way, so they go - that's
right - on the lawn. You're getting the gist now, aren't you? I forgot about
the old orange plastic washing up bowl and the old brown rubbish bin, both full
of lovely brown water and soaked dead leaves. Into the compost bin with the
contents and the two containers, kept for reasons even I can't imagine, go -
right again - on the lawn.
The space is clear. All I have to do now is fix the guttering and place
the water butt on its stand and we're away and ready for the next rain.
Ah.
Guttering. Some short while ago, we had the outside woodwork on the house
replaced with UPVc plastic as a way of smartening the property and reducing the
need for maintenance. I asked the workmen to save me some of the old guttering,
as they were replacing it, of course. I knew, you see, I'd need a short piece,
about 8 feet in total, to feed rainwater into the butt. They were kind. Left me
four lengths, totalling around 36 feet, along with two downpipes, some joints
and brackets and other bits and pieces. They were all stored, if that's the
word, on the patio.
So, out comes my trusty
Black and Decker folding workbench from the
garage. Of course, I have to take the car out of the garage in order to get at
the workbench. I set it up, on the lawn (is there really room there?). And, in
the process, manage to place my thumb between the end of one of the folding
legs and the place where it sits when unfolded. Two pieces of fairly hefty
metal with a thumb between; I think you can guess where the damage
occurred. I suffer, always have, from a
strange condition that causes me to feel faint, even occasionally actually
causes me to faint, when I attack myself in certain ways. I feel the world
start to spin and, with plenty of experience, recognise that I need to place my
head lower than my heart for a while or my body will abruptly do that of its
own accord. So I lie down on the lawn (yes, I know, but there is room). That
grass is doing great service.
Once the initial feeling has subsided, I rise slowly and grab a folding
chair from the shed, plonk it on the patio and sit there with my head between
my knees. A position in which Valerie discovers me as she is hanging out the
washing on the outdoor airer. Sympathy and a plaster are both forthcoming. The
blood is stemmed and the thumb appears still to be functional, so I continue
the job. Valerie attacks the fallen cherry tree with saw and secateurs to make
it small enough to fit in the recycling bin for garden waste.
I select the first piece of guttering, place it against the shed to
gather measurements and see exactly how it will work. The hacksaw cuts through
the plastic with ease and I strip the necessary joints and brackets from the
lengths left by the workers. When all is assembled, I return to the garage to
search through seventeen thousand assorted screws for the four I'll need to fix
the brackets to the shed. Nine hours later, I've found four screws. Valerie holds
up one end of the assembled guttering whilst I mark the spots needed to ensure
there'll be enough slope to drain the water into the butt. I fix the brackets;
that small electric screwdriver blessed again for its ease of use.
I clip the guttering into place and look at the spot where the butt will
stand. Uneven and a little too low to get a watering can under the tap, even
allowing for the stand I've bought for that purpose. So: oh, I forgot about the
bag of sand I also discovered behind the shed and had to move using the wheel
barrow and emptying the bag in three loads as it was too heavy to move full.
Now that sand comes into its own as I spread a layer of it on the ground and
then place a layer of house bricks on top. The spirit level assures me they're
level in both directions and I place the stand on top. Next the butt itself is
raised. All that remains is to cut the hole in the lid. Good old Stanley knife
does that job, and the down pipe enters the hole and all is done and ready.
Time for lunch.
Valerie does the catering whilst I organise chairs and tables for the
first time on the patio this summer. We eat.
The tools come in handy to reduce the old guttering and the several
lengths of wood I'd also forgotten about that were stored behind the shed. I
need them all to be short enough to fit in the back of my hatchback. The old
bench frame eventually comes apart with the aid of a spanner and I fold the old
plastic storage bags neatly to form a base for the rest of the rubbish in the back
of the car, once I've taken out the seats.
The local recycling centre is quiet at this time of the day and I find
the various deposit points for the different bits and pieces.
Back home, I tidy up the tools and have a shower. I've learned that I
need to rest after any form of physical activity if I'm to be any use for the
rest of the day: a legacy of 8 years of ME/CFS. So I lie on the sofa and watch
the news on TV before finally coming in here to do some writing.
Only then do I remember I haven't done my usual writing piece on the
blog. So, there you have it: my excuse for failing to supply you with a
thoughtful piece on writing this Thursday. And, if you've got this far, all I
can say is, you've got more stamina than I have!
Yesterday was the launch
party for Joinings, A Seared Sky. I
spent 12 hours online, answering questions and interacting with readers who
attended. A common theme during the day was positive feedback about the event.
Dan Grubb, owner of Fantastic Books Publishing, had put a great deal of effort
into organising and supporting this launch. I had no previous experience of
such things, having allowed my other books, self-published, to promote
themselves! A naïve decision, I now recognise, but that’s experience for you.
