The mystery of the West Flood

The Barbie had one other major advantage. It spurred me on to give the hedge a haircut. And in so doing I solved a mystery even greater than UFOs, crop circles, the MPC’s interest rate movements, and the Loch Ness monster. Well, maybe not crop circles: it’s still a mystery as to why I spent so much time creating the blighters in the first place, although I am rather proud of one I got into a book.

I digress...

For aeons now I’ve been troubled by a switch marked West Flood. It must have had some major significance to the original native inhabitants back in the olden days (say, ten years back, which in Australian architectural terms is pretty much antediluvian). Indeed, they chiselled ancient runes on the switch plate cover to mark this switch which was in prime position, right in the middle and half way up a wall, so you couldn’t miss it. Indeed, it’s so annoying, it’s rather like the goat in the room.

It is a right pain though – I mean, why put it there? And more crucially to me, why chop out the centre section of weatherboarding to punch through the cables and the switch. To repair these, and restore the walls to their former pre-flood glory (or pre-diluvian  period – meaning "before the deluge"... see what I’ve done there?) I need to take out the entire plank. Which is also easier said than done, because of course, they are tongue and groove weatherboards, and they neatly slot together. To take out one in the middle, you either saw it out, or start at the top, and take everything off.

And of course that doesn’t solve the burning, searing question. What is the purpose of the West Flood? And why isn’t it searing... indeed, why is it very definitely not on, working, or, indeed, visible.

I’ve traced the cable, which is buried under layers of insulation in the loft, and then it runs straight down the wall into the well... from where all was a mystery, until, while working on this, I had an inspiration... and went back to where I’ve hacked down 20 years worth of growth in the shrubbery. And there, lying dormant rather like an out of work adolescent hedgehog, under piles of privet, is my West Flood.

Of course the thing doesn’t actually work or anything, and its rusted solid. But it’s good to have solved one mystery.