Skip to main content

Drought - An urgent appeal

Hello. I’m vaguely famous, and I’m here today to tell you about a terrible problem, and to ask for your help. There are some people in the barren lowlands of the South of England who, due to a terrible drought, are unable to keep their swimming pools full, or water their tennis court every day. They need YOUR help...
In an unprecedented piece of stating the bleeping obvious, it has been announced that a lot of the South and East of England has worryingly low water reserves, due to the fact that it hasn’t rained much. And for quite a long time.

This is shocking news indeed. As you may have gathered, I’m not a native Cumbrianer, so news that places I wandered round in my top hat and tails, whilst shouting at foreigners (and the Welsh), are suffering so terribly cuts to my very soul. Although, after that ill-advised pact with the devil for good tickets to a Sonia gig, I’m not entirely clear as to who is currently feeling the pain.

Actually, it is possible to tell I’m not from round here originally, because I still occasionally get startled by:

a) The very big hills

b) Roads classified as ‘A’ that have more curves that a bag of bananas, and more narrow bits that Victoria Beckham

c) The vast quantities of tiny sheep that magically start appearing around now, then mysteriously all vanish again a few months later

4) My inability to remember what I was doing when I started a list

q) A complete lack of attention to detail when it comes to consistency with list numbering

Ah. Anyway, despite there having been numerous times of drought in the past, we don’t seem to have learnt any lessons. I was there, man – in ’76. You don’t know what it was like! We had to fill a bucket from a tap, up the road! *sobs uncontrollably* How can you know? You weren’t THERE, man!

Sorry about that. Every time we get another drought, we have lots of eminent watery experts saying we should have a network of pipes, moving water from moist areas to dry ones. And then, when it’s all got a bit better, and the grass isn’t yellow anymore, and birds don’t sit on your windowsill, looking longingly at the taps, we forget all about that good idea. Until the next time.

We’re clever people right? (Although, see my previous posts for exceptions to that statement). So why don’t we actually do something about it this time? What with all the global warming, changing weather patterns and some other complicated sciency stuff, it looks set to become a more frequent occurrence. So surely we need to stop talking, and start tunnelling? (Note to self - Use that phrase in a meeting at some point.)

Sure, it’ll cost a lot of money. But we’re already skint, so what the heck? More importantly, some of us are getting thirsty too.

I propose we erect signs, next to the “Welcome to Cumbria” ones, that say “You can have some of our water, if you knock a few quid off the cost of our fruit and veg, and stop getting all over-excited when you see a snowflake and close all the airports”.

Blimey. I’m going native.

So, *adopts B-list celebrity voice* here’s how you can help. Take that empty Tesco Value cider 5 litre bottle, and fill it up with rain water. It shouldn’t be hard to find – there’s lots of it, all over the place. Then post it to “The South”.

Bless you.

(Cripes – a topical post. I do apologise. I’ll get back to ranting again shortly. In the meantime, thank you for getting me through to the last 9 in Big Blogger, I really appreciate it. I’ll get my Mum to tell your Mum that I think you’re really nice, and maybe you can come over for tea. We’re having Alphabetti Spaghetti, although I have to have it with the letter after O removed, as I’m allergic to P’s.)

This blog post appeared yesterday as an entry in the North West Evening Mail's "Big Blogger" competition. Do me a favour - click on this link to view it on their website, please? Thanks to your clicks, I've made it through to the last 9. One person gets eliminated on Monday... Wahg!

(Can't beat a bit of ELO, so tonight I'm going with the rather splendid "The Very Best of - Volume 2 - Ticket To The Moon", which handily avoids the challenging first 2 albums. Orchestral Poptastic!)

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Suffering from natural obsolescence

You know you’re getting old when it dawns on you that you’re outliving technological breakthroughs. You know the sort of thing – something revolutionary, that heralds a seismic shift it the way the modern world operates. Clever, time-saving, breathtaking and life-changing (and featuring a circuit board). It’s the future, baby! Until it isn’t any more. I got to pondering this when we laughed heartily in the office about someone asking if our camcorder used “tape”. Tape? Get with the times, Daddy-o! If it ain’t digital then for-get-it! I then attempted to explain to an impossibly young colleague that video tape in a camcorder was indeed once a “thing”, requiring the carrying of something the size of a briefcase around on your shoulder, containing batteries normally reserved for a bus, and a start-up time from pressing ‘Record’ so lengthy, couples were already getting divorced by the time it was ready to record them saying “I do”. After explaining what tape was, I realised I’d ...

"It's all gone quiet..." said Roobarb

If, like me, you grew up (and I’m aware of the irony in that) in the ‘70s, February was a tough month, with the sad news that Richard Briers and Bob Godfrey had died. Briers had a distinguished acting career and is, quite rightly, fondly remembered most for his character in ‘The Good Life’. Amongst his many roles, both serious and comedic, he also lent his voice to a startling bit of animation that burst it’s wobbly way on to our wooden-box-surrounded screens in 1974. The 1970s seemed to be largely hued in varying shades of beige, with hints of mustard yellow and burnt orange, and colour TV was a relatively new experience still, so the animated adventures of a daft dog and caustic cat who were the shades of dayglo green and pink normally reserved for highlighter pens, must have been a bit of a shock to the eyes at the time. It caused mine to open very wide indeed. Roobarb was written by Grange Calveley, and brought vividly into life by Godfrey, whose strange, shaky-looking sty...

A fisful of change at the shops

A recent day out reminded me how much the retail experience has altered during my lifetime – and it’s not all good. I could stop typing this, and buy a fridge, in a matter of seconds. The shops are shut and it’s 9pm, but I could still place the order and arrange delivery. I haven’t got to wander round a white-goods retail emporium trying to work out which slightly different version of something that keeps my cider cold is better. It’ll be cheaper, too. But in amongst the convenience, endless choice and bargains, we’ve lost some of the personal, human, touches that used to make a trip to the shops something more than just a daily chore. Last weekend, we visited a local coastal town. Amongst the shops selling over-priced imported home accessories (who doesn’t need another roughly-hewn wooden heart, poorly painted and a bargain at £10?) was one that looked different. It’s window allowed you to see in, rather than being plastered with stick-on graphics and special offers calling ...