Party time

Well there goes another year. Blink and you miss them these days, thanks to the ever increasing speed of broadband. Rabid blames Telstra for speeding everything up to the point where instant gratification is the only kind that interests the punters. Pretty soon the latest movie will stream straight off the editing console in Hollywood into your Media Centre or PVR, passing the quaint old cinema entirely.

Most of Rabid’s customers now have bigger screens in their lounge rooms than the one in the local cinema anyway, thanks to the bountiful baby bonus. We’ve decided to throw a huge barbecue party by the pool to try to revive their interest in the humble reseller of technology.

Before we could send out the invites, we needed to get the place ship-shape, which included chasing out the frogs and other amphibians. After visiting the local pool shop with a water sample, and being asked when we last visited Chernobyl, we decided to bypass those bozos and apply the guiding hand of technology to the problem. After spending no more than a week on eBay discovering what sort of tech-toys are available for pool maintenance, Rabid took the plunge (ha-ha) and ordered a you-beaut self-calibrating auto-sensing multiple-testing water-analysis meter.

Armed with the meter we approached the toxic swamp, while wearing a full safety harness, and inserted the probe into the nearest algal bloom. On advice from the nephew, who claims he once grew a handlebar moustache and spent the summer holidays cleaning pools, we dumped a box-trailer load of calcium hypochlorite into the festering billabong and stood back as the whole thing bubbled and squeaked like the witches’ cauldron in Macbeth.

That seemed to do the trick and the frogs and associated slithering things duly departed post haste, and the pretty green algal bloom faded to brown and sank to the bottom. We asked the pool-cleaning expert nephew, but got no reply, about ways to remove 15cm of sludge without hiring a septic tank cleaning firm, but at least the magic meter gave readings rather than sparks. Next we applied copious servings of every chemical in the shed in quantities normally only discussed by bulk haulage contractors.

As the water slowly became transparent we solved the missing barbecue mystery, and at the same time discovered why nobody bothers to raise shipwrecks from the ocean floor. A quick trip to the tip with a return via the supermarket had things almost sorted. We had to settle for a cylinder of propane to fire up the new barbecue since we’d forgotten to collect the swamp gas before fixing the pool. Another lost opportunity for sustainable energy production in the suburbs.

Now the pool is sparkling clean and the barbecue is chained to the house, why don’t you all drop in for Christmas drinks? Bring your own food and booze of course – after all this is still the House of Rabid.

Gotta go! Guests arriving!

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