Water, water everywhere

Life is full of paradoxes and man’s task on earth is to resolve as many as possible. Of course, the sooner one is solved one, the faster another hits. Civilisation conspires to remove problems and make everyday living as smooth as possible. In doing so, it reduces one’s awareness of problems that have been solved. This is good until one breaks from that protective cover. Returning to a simpler life, one finds oneself returning to simple problems one didn’t know existed. Take for example water from a tap, or used water going down a drain, or . . . well you get the idea. The closer civilisation has come to connecting us to a perfect and continuous supply of water – and its removal - the less aware we are – both of how it all happens (magic) and how much we use (lots). Living in London, the closest I come to understanding how much I use is the quarterly bill – and all that tells me is how much I have to pay, which may or may not bear any connection to the amount I use since we have no meter. Living like a turtle, but with water and power tanks attached (including, dare I mention it, waste water tanks attached), requires both cognisance and action. Press a little button right over the door and instantly, your trampess can see how full her three water tanks (fresh, grey and brown) are. It is not random interest that drives her or the tramp to press the button since washing one’s hands, making a cup of coffee, or even using the loo, depend on having adequate water in the fresh tank. One dares not think what happens if the other tanks reach overflow!

After careful study of the levels over a relatively short time, the tramp has concluded that we are washing too many dishes. (the tramp by the way is back in his former job of dishwasher since the trampess does the cooking and there are no baby tramps around to do that chore, but I am sure this is irrelevant information and there was no need to mention it). Being systematic, he began by doing a study of breakfast. The first conclusion was that we really were eating as though we were in normal domestic circumstances: porridge, eggs, ryevita, fruit, tea, cappuccino , I mean, does one need so much, so many plates, so much washing up?? My suggestion that porridge would be good for him and was so practical on so many levels - several months supply can be stored (in the garage – the turtle’s shell does of course have a garage) - whereas eggs require weekly purchase and take up refrigerator space - met with as much enthusiasm as I expected. Not you understand, that I mind making eggs for him, and the water I boil the eggs in is then used to soak the porridge pot and then the (egg) pot is re-used to boil the milk for my cappuccino. So it is used twice and only washed once (not to mention providing the washing water for the other pot). One could scarcely imagine a more efficient use of pots and water.

The reason for such scrutiny is obvious: one has to take responsibility for refilling the fresh water tank and emptying the others. You may have noticed how many roadside stops are offered on motorways for refilling fresh and dumping waste water – not a lot, right? So one needs to think about these things. In a perfect world, all three tanks would empty and fill at such a rate that one could make one stop to deal with all three tanks. We are far from paradise in this respect and I fear (though I have not dared mention to the tramp) that we will shortly (as soon as I lift myself from my death bed) slip further down the rungs of hell. My recovery will include a return to running – and showering. If the dishes produce excessive amounts of grey water one can only imagine what a shampoos and shower will do! I fear the tramp may revert to Napoleon’s command to Josephine not to bathe as he was on his way home! Clandestine bathing and lavish spraying of Chanel 5 (strategically purchased at the airport on the last exit) will have to see me through.

I expect to be on the road again soon (we just have to make sure that the door works – while I was dying and the tramp went out he asked me to lock the door. When he returned he could not open it from the outside, but rather more worryingly, I could not open it from the inside even after unlocking it manually. No need to trouble yourselves about this, but I spent the afternoon in bed, inside the factory, while my door was changed) , God willing. Do you think she is?