Getting into the game by Chris Clark
If you stop and listen, sometimes strange conversations can be heard over the crunch and crumble of brown grass underfoot.
Why, just last week I heard two gentlemen talking about our almost complete lack of rainfall, and just how bad things have become. As my uncle used to say, in his own inimitable way, it’s drier than a popcorn fart out there.
The discussion I overheard started with chatter over the recent fire ban. It doesn’t seem right, said one, that we can be told how, or how not to, live. A ban on bonfires, campfires and other assorted blazes is a prudent move when things turn toasty, but a complete ban is excessive.
A cooking fire should be small, contained and attended at all times, he went on, so what’s the big deal? One little spark, came the reply, could turn into a very big deal indeed, so it’s best to err on the side of caution, wouldn’t you say.
It’s not like we could put a fire out if we wanted, since there’s a complete water ban now too, buddy. No watering the lawn, no washing the car, no filling up the pool, and no watering the peas and carrots either. It’s fascism, he suggested, and we mustn’t stand for it.
Relax, was the reply, and have a drink. Can’t. Water ban means no ice for my cooler, and no cubes for my whisky. Why, just this morning I had to rinse my hair with sand, and eat condensed soup right out of the can. Water ban. Parts of me haven’t been washed in weeks. I’m so mad I could spit, but that’s been banned too.
It’s not that bad, old chum. Next time, try eating the dirt and rinsing your hair with the soup instead. It might do you some good.
Nope. It is that bad. We pay good money each month for services and infrastructure, he said. If I wanted to live in Botswana, I would move there. Are the authorities going to offer me a rebate this month for all the water I didn’t use? Will I be offered grocery money when I have to buy all my vegetables this year? Not likely.
Desperate times call for desperate measures, and we all have to do our part. Besides, you wouldn’t eat a vegetable if it was dipped in honey and fried in maple syrup. The last green thing I saw you eat was bread.
Doesn’t matter. What’s important is that we are being told more and more what we can and can not do. I’m sick of it. What’s next, an air ban? Are we going to have to walk around taking tiny little breaths, just to conserve oxygen? Mark my words, because it’s coming.
Well, if it stops your flow of hot air than I’m all for it. Until then, keep right on griping, old man. There doesn’t seem to be a ban on that.