Disaster (ish)

What a bleedin' day! I got up this morning planning to finish off the pond, but instead I discovered that my oil tank was leaking. So much for feeling smug when I filled the tank with 1000 litres in January at a rock bottom price. I felt like a headless chicken. What do I do, what do I do? So I did what everyone does in the 21st century and googled it, and was advised to buy some epoxy resin which would stop the leak. So I did, and it didn't. I rang my insurance company to see if perchance I was covered, but only for damage, not wear and tear. I haven't worked out what I might be able to claim for yet. A new lawn ha ha ha? So I tried the company that made it, and to my delight was told that it was under warranty for another 4 months! But there is no fairy godmother in this house, and I was never going to be that lucky.

I realised that I had to get the tank emptied to stop it causing an environmental catastrophe, especially with a field full of barley not 50 yards away. Who empties tanks? How do you find out? Google again, of course. After a dozen or so phone calls I found a man in Norwich who would send his lad out at lunchtime to empty the fuel and take it away, cost £150 plus VAT. And it would be the same to return it, almost as much as the 1000 litres cost in the first place. But by this time the engineer appointed by the warranty company to come and look at the problem had rung and told me that emptying the tank, and putting it in a holding reservoir in my garden until the tank could be replaced, was all part of the service. He would be around later to do that. So I quickly rang the man who was coming, and got dog's abuse. He was just a few miles away, and he'd have to invoice me for diesel and lost time. I said I'd be happy to pay for a couple of gallons of diesel, but it was a genuine mistake and I was terribly sorry for any inconvenience. He didn't like that and got a bit threatening, so I put the car in the garage, locked myself in, and waited to see if he'd come and beat me up. A while later, enjoying my lunch, I saw a man walk down the drive and fled upstairs, shaking like a twit. He knocked, knocked again, and then went to look at the tank. "Hello?", I called from an upstairs window with an Australian uplift to my voice. And it was the good man, not the bad man. God, what a relief.

I'm not sure how it happened, but I seem to have agreed to pay £1075 for an upgraded replacement. So much for the warranty. Like I said, there are no fairy godmothers here.

Once all of that had been straightened out to my dissatisfaction I returned to the pond. It's looking great, really fabulous, but in the course of placing all the stones around the edge I've dislodged a lot of soil into the water. I'm a bit obsessive about ponds. In an earlier house my favourite job was cleaning the pond, pumping all the water out, scrubbing the lining and refilling. I used to find dead frogs tucked into the folds of the lining, transparent in death but never smelly for some reason. The first time I did it I took out all the fish, 13 in total, unlucky for them, and placed them in a large empty bin full of water while I completed the job. To keep them oxygenised and happy in the fresh water I hung an electric mixer over the edge of the bin to create some bubbles by churning it up a bit, only it was the fish that got churned up. I never had fish again. I'm not a fit person. Anyway, in this new fishless pond I pumped out all the water, removed all the mud, and filled it up again with lovely clear water.

I'm really tired now. Not just physically but mentally too. It's been a long, trying day. What will tomorrow bring?