(Thursday 13th September 2012 Signed on 17:39)
It all happens where I live. I really have been racing a
tractor pulling a slurry tank this afternoon and I’ve been to the Garda
station.
Let’s start with the tanker: the house where we live has a
septic tank. The Irish Government have decided to comply with European
regulations and have all septic tanks inspected. My septic tank is registered, but
there have been lots of complaints in the press about the process. Many people
view it as a “tax on rural Ireland”. They’re probably right but I believe in “render
onto Caesar that which is Caesar’s”, so I registered early and will be helpful
to whoever turns up to do the inspection.
With any kind of inspection or examination one always has
concern that something bad will be found. In this case that might mean a new
septic tank, which would be enormously disruptive and very expensive. If
something nasty is going to happen, I would rather find out sooner than later,
so I arranged to have my tank emptied and at the same time asked the fellow
emptying it whether he thought it would pass.
I found two suppliers who empty septic tanks. Both offered
good service (registered, etc) so naturally I chose the one which was slightly
cheaper. I will comment, that it may be a dirty business but the people in it
seem to be very easy and pleasant to deal with. I arranged for him to call at
my house in the early evening, and to ring my mobile when he was on his way.
I had to collect my daughters from their school just before
4 o’clock and on the way home I dropped into the supermarket to buy a packet of
cereal that I had overlooked in today’s shop. While I was in the check-out
queue my phone rang. I could see from the display that it was the septic-tank
man, but I couldn’t hear what he was saying. Hoping that I was saying the right
thing, I said that I was on my way home and that he should proceed there.
On the way home, on the way out of the town I drive through
a tee junction (in front of the library for anyone who knows). As I was in the traffic queue I saw an enormous 4
wheel drive tractor, pulling a proportionately large slurry tank crossing the “tee”.
I said to my daughters, “I bet that is our slurry tanker”. They agreed, but we
couldn’t be sure, and there was nothing practical we could do about it in any
case, because we were waiting in traffic.
When we turned into our road (a long, winding country road),
the tractor was nowhere in sight, but soon enough we caught up with the queue
of traffic which had accumulated behind it. I was now “racing a tractor pulling
a slurry tank”. Fortunately he pulled
over to let the traffic clear and to get his bearings before he reached my
house, so I was able to overtake him and pull into my drive.
The driver was extremely skilful. Backing the tractor into
my driveway and then around the corner of the house was like threading a
needle.
The actual emptying was done quickly and efficiently. The
driver said that the tank needed emptying and I would see that there was large
proportion of solids in the stuff that he was pumping out. Yuck!
As he was leaving I noticed something lying in my front
garden. I thought it might be his, so I walked over to it, picked it up and
waved at him. The thing I had picked it up was a brown ladies’ handbag which
had been discarded in my front garden. I realised that it might from a robbery
of some sort. There was nothing to be done about my having picked it up, so I
dropped it in a plastic carrier and took it to the Garda Station. The Garda
looked at it, inspected the contents: a recipe, a cigarette lighter, a receipt
and two Mass cards (For anyone who doesn’t know, a Mass card is printed to
commemorate someone’s funeral). I hadn’t
noticed the Mass Cards, but the Garda seemed to think that they suggested that
the bag belonged to someone local. The receipt was from a local supermarket
(actually the one where I had bought the cereal just a short time before, and
had the “Rewards Card” number on it, so it should be easy for the Supermarket
to identify the bag’s owner for the Gardai. I left my name, address and phone
number and went on my way.
(Signed off 19:13 800 Words, a little over 1 page)
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