Sunday, April 10, 2005

Swimming pool, how I loathe thee

This blog is starting to get mother-intensive, but I've decided to move back home in order to save money for a) future property investment, b) world domination, c) kendo, d) Nicky-visiting trips interstate, so it's inevitable. Get used to it.

The pool at my parents' house has been the bane of my life for the past 10 years. It is a ravenous parasite, never satisfied with the monstrous quantities of acid and buffer taht we pour into it, even when you put that stuff in that's supposed to prevent the other stuff from evaporating. (I'm having an Oriental blonde moment and can't remember the name. It's white powdery stuff that you have to put it in a sock so it disperses slowly. Amortiser? Sodomiser? Volumiser? Hang on, that's a L'Oreal hair product. Whatever. That white stuff that goes in a sock.)

Anyway, the pool's been acting up again, so Mum and I went out to investigate the skimmer basket. The menfolk had somehow mysteriously disappeared just when we decided to do this.

One day that pool will be filled up or the house sold, and Mum and I will crack open the Bolly and have a huge party. The only thing it's good for is a) swallowing money, b) keeping briefly cool on those six really hot days in summer, c) becoming a potential future silo for hoarding petrol when the prices go past $1.15 a litre*, and d) becoming a potential future hidden burial area for useless mysteriously disappearing menfolk.

I was about to plunge my arm into the freezing water to remove the basket (yeah, I get all the good jobs) when Mum goes "*Squeal!*" and points at the water. I jump back. "What? What?" She keeps pointing at the basket. I peer in and see a small marinated rodent. I give a loud squeal myself and nearly fall into the pool.

"Hold on, I'll get a plastic bag," says Mum and goes back into the house. I get a stick and fish mousie from the water. I stand there, holding it out at arm's length, pondering how its little ribs look remarkably like fish bones and how all meat looks like chicken and why the heck is my mother taking such a long time to get a plastic bag out of a drawer? The mouse is getting heavy and I'm resisting the urge to take a closer look. Thank god I'm wearing my blindie glasses (useless for driving but good for close work).

"Why don't you just throw it over the fence into the laneway?" says a disembodied voice from the study window (my brother Glen).

So that's what I did. Exciting stuff, eh?

* Yes, I know this sounds dangerous and foolhardy, but we are talking about people related to Singaporeans, who, during the fuel price boom in the late 90s, did the following: in a bid to make an easy $100, some enterprising souls converted their car boots to a second petrol tank, drove across the border to Malaysia, filled the tanks up, and then drove their uneasy cargo back across the border to sell to cash-strapped Singaporeans. That's why they now check that people driving across to Malaysia for the weekend have full fuel tanks. Sad, eh?**

** I'm also certain that these are the same people who prompted the S'pore government's health department to issue a warning that it was UNSAFE to try and make your own contact lens saline solution from tap water and table salt.

1 Comment:

an9ie said...

STABILISER. That's what it is - thanks Emma!