Sticks and Stones

It's been a rough few weeks, so if I start sounding the least bit whiney, please turn away immediately and go look at some pretty pictures instead. Thanks.
As proof that exercise is indeed bad for one's health (something I have long suspected), I was striding energetically along a bush track when my previously trusty hiking stick slipped on the loose gravel and I skidded gracelessly and with increasing speed down a hill. Even without medical training, the quiet but nasty snapping sound and the extremely rude word that I suddenly shouted were a good indication that all was not well in the leg department.
Being neither suitably dressed for a live interview, nor overly keen on publicity in any form, I was unwilling to lie there until winched out by a search and rescue helicopter in time for the evening news. So there was no alternative but to extract my leg from underneath me and persuade it to carry me a further kilometer or so to the main road. Fortunately I was able to call a friend to collect me there.

A few nights later, as the result of some astonishingly self-destructive muscle spasms while I was asleep, I had to call an ambulance to take me and my even-more-broken leg to the emergency department where I spent an eye-opening night experiencing the shortcomings of the public hospital system. I spent 6 months working in that department as a new graduate, so I know very well how stressful and busy it is, but I'm afraid there is simply no excuse for some of the regrettably uncaring behaviour I saw towards many patients. It takes only a second to draw a curtain or pull up a sheet over someone whose nakedness is obviously causing them added distress, and privacy guidelines alone (let alone basic consideration) should ensure that someone's diagnosis or results are not shouted across the room.

On the other hand, I also witnessed amazing restraint by some nursing staff. As it was after midnight on a Friday night, and this was the inner city public hospital, there was a steady stream of drunk and/or drugged and/or aggressive patients. Security has been hugely upgraded since I worked there, with an assortment of burly individuals wandering around to help prevent and quell unruly or dangerous behaviour. They were seldom needed, thanks to the calm and patient tolerance shown by some nurses. I was particularly impressed with the lone individual in triage, responsible for deciding the urgency of each new case. He spent well over 15 minutes calmly talking to a very agitated but apparently uninjured woman who refused to be either seen by medical staff, or to leave. I would have called in the "troops" after she first started hammering her fists on the glass screen of his cubicle, but he managed to talk her down and she eventually wandered off into the night.

So now I'm confined to couch and wheelchair for a month, the novelty of which wore off in less than 24 hours.
Still, the enforced inactivity means I might post here more often than once every few months.

Dirty Deeds

I am a bit of a magpie when it comes to acquiring tidbits of information (usually useless), but I confess that an intimate understanding of the workings of a septic system was not even on my distressingly long list of Things I Still Need to Find Out. For those fortunate readers whose homes are connected to municipal waste water systems, the concept of actually keeping effluent on the premises must seem a little bizarre, but there are many places, even in technologically advanced countries, where this is a fact of life. However, the situation is usually not something we think about, and like most people my interest in the subject ends as soon as I flush.

Well, all that changed last week, when during the course of some fairly routine and minor bathroom renovations, the whole issue came (ahem) to the surface. Within the space of a day, the cost of the internal improvements was eclipsed by the unplanned expenses outside, my back yard and garden were transformed into a smelly version of a mining site, I was introduced to a whole new subculture, and I learned more than I really wanted to about post-flush events.

But fear not. I do not propose to share my new-found knowledge. The above account is merely to introduce the subject of yet another scam to which the innocent public can easily fall prey.
It goes like this:

1. Householder notices unpleasant smell (or worse) indicating the septic system may be malfunctioning.
2. Householder calls trusty plumber, whose exorbitant fees are more than justified by some of the jobs he has to do.
3. Trusty plumber fiddles around with long bendy rods, plungers, and other mysterious items and announces that "The system must be blocked". Householder nods nervously, thinking back over what could possibly have been introduced to the system to block it, and by whom.
   
4. Trusty plumber disappears into the garden and starts stabbing crossly at the ground until he eventually finds the long-buried concrete tank.
5. Said tank is then excavated (usually by apprentice plumber), with blithe disregard for any plants or paths in the vicinity.
6. Having refreshed himself with the householder's tea and cake while the apprentice worked, the plumber now rolls up his sleeves, lifts the lid off the tank and investigates.
   
7. The householder, faint with horror and embarrassment at what might be discovered, has retreated to a quiet darkened room to await the verdict.
8. Plumber returns, wiping hands ineffectually on dirty rag, and announces "I found the problem. Your tank's full. You need to get it pumped out as soon as possible - I'll arrange it if you like." Weak with gratitude at not being invited to come and see for themselves, the householder accepts.
9. Huge smelly truck duly arrives the following day, a long wide-bore hose is unfurled, and distressingly graphic noises over the next hour or so indicate that the household waste is finally leaving the property.
10. The large account is promptly paid by the grateful householder, who is then left to spend the rest of the day re-burying the tank and trying to restore the garden.
    
11. Repeat every few years as required.

So where's the scam? It's brilliantly simple, and relies completely on points 7 and 8 above. Sublimely confident that no householder in their right mind will actually want to look at a tank of effluent, the plumber can claim that the tank needs emptying, and then cheerfully pocket the "consideration" passed to him by the tank-emptying man whose services were not, in fact, required at all.

Here are the true facts, which I learned from someone who opted out of this lucrative arrangement:

• Provided the system is working correctly, a septic tank for a 2-person household should not need to be pumped out any more frequently than every 10-15 years if at all. For a larger household, the interval may be as short as 5-7 years, but no more often than that. So now you know.

Be brave, breathe through your mouth, and go look for yourself. You might have to find a new plumber, but you'll save a lot of money, and you'll have struck a welcome blow for Honesty.

Patriotism

The Girtie song may be our sanctioned National Anthem, but I have recently seen a poem which should get equal billing:

Echidnas can't float on inflatable boats.
Can't lounge on inflatable chairs.
Can't lay on their backs on clear bubble wrap.
They're tragic, but who really cares?
Get called things like Millie.
And names just as silly.
As porcupine hedgehog and such.
And their long razor spikes.
Aren't to get kids on bikes.
But I think that they'd like to as much.
There's just no romance.
For a guy who sucks ants.
And just how many ants can one take.
But if they were able to sit at a table.
I bet they'd love pizza and shake.
So don't take it hard.
If there's one in your yard.
Allow it it's time in the sun.
For despite their odd features.
They're our Aussie creatures.
Echinas, well they're number one.

Briyant, innit?

(Thanks ishtar :-) )