Well day 2 of this magnificent struggle of one against many came to an end. An appalling day of rain and hailstones but all in all a damp squib. I was up early 3.15am ready to repel all invaders but if the truth was known,to write up yesterday’s blog posting.
The lads arrived about 8.00am and 1300 words complete and typed up. They went about their business as though their best form of attack was to ignore, the concrete wagon came, disgorged its load and eight meters were complete, the rain spoiling the quality of finish on the concrete. They returned later with trowels to make good. The place now like an abandoned workings with pedestrian barriers waiting to be removed and the run off from the concrete spoiling the channel in the road, eventually to be washed away by more rain. A good quick tidy job in terrible weather but I am left peeved. Irish Water have ignored my plight, my stand against smart meter snubbed and for the moment I still have my old dirty 13 year old stopcock doing its job and shyly hiding under the footpath. Without doubt they have not finished with me yet. We await the future.
Day 3 arrives and all is calm, again up early but not for me. I normally go to bed at 7.00pm, unencumbered by that curse of mankind, television and awake at anytime between 3.00am and 4.00am ready to blog if the muse is with me, answer e-mails and trawl the net to see what is happening. These first four hours of the day are an immensely pleasurable and peaceful time when lots of work can be done and if the weather is fine I can look out the window and watch the sun rise over Loch Ce. But as 7.30am arrives my tempo increases, kitchen to clean after last night’s labours and tea to be made for my darling reposer up stairs, who by now is coming to the end of her 11-12 hour beauty sleep. The normal swift retort about this or that which displeases her and back to my screen and keyboard. Mornings are not her finest hour, she needs time to imbue the peace of the day.
Today I have just realised is Saturday so I will be off into town for the newspapers, the only day we buy them. For me the Indo, for the prize super sudoko and for her the Guardian which she has become disdainful of since poor old Araucaria died but I do like the Literary Review. The newspapers themselves mean nothing to us, the news they offer is not the reports of events but someone’s version of events which nearly always is untrue or skewed. The only true news we get is off the internet, which in the end will prove to be the saviour of mankind, providing we can stop the bastards in charge ruining it for us before we can get to them.
I took the ladies car, leaving mine as a proud sentinel of right and sure enough the lads were at work on my return. I felt as though they were lusting after the space my little stop-cock possessed under the mighty Landcruiser engine but their emotion never showed as they continued to break down the barriers and load their apparatus onto their vehicles. An hour later they were gone leaving our little enclave as clean and tidy as they found it on Thursday. Am I to be forgotten, am I to be ignored as I was all my life. What is wrong with my little stop-cock? I had been expecting a fight and I have not even had a tickle.
Sunday morning , bright and early, cup of tea upstairs to lady, shower and ready for the day. I guessed the industrious lads in the gang would no doubt keep the sabbath sacred so I decided to take the landcruiser for a spin. I thought I would see where our gang and the other gangs were working, the Indo said they were targeting the towns of Boyle and Castlerea first, before rolling out into the rest of Roscommon. Boyle isn’t that big that you cannot drive round every street in 20 minutes, so off I trot, down Abbeytown and up Forest View, through Drum and up Maple Drive and along Carrick Road but no sign of barriers. Back to town, a look along Shop St and up Marion Road and the streets off it, down Quarry Lane and up Elphin St, turn right into Silveroe and still no sign. Back into town and down Termon Road and the streets off it, nothing. So back into town, left into St Patrick St, through Mockmoyne and nearly up to Ardagh, where I know they have wells and not part of the scheme. Again back into town and up the steep hill that is Green St as far as Lowpark, no sign, so back into town again and down Main Street and Military Road to the Abbey. Not a barrier, mini-digger or anything to show a sign of industry. Have they done a runner? Was my bellicosity to much for the water men? They might of course have locked everything up for the weekend but eight meters in two and a half days is not what you call progress. They should have done at least 15. They could be in Boyle for a year; they have the whole country to finish by 2016 but certainly not at this rate. Perhaps the local opposition might be stronger than I imagined. No doubt next week will give us a better idea and hopefully a visit from Irish Water.
There is one thing certain that whilst Landcruiser is strategically positioned, I must have saved 100 euros in diesel, so I must remember to knock that off my bill for good water of 3,000 euros.