Of course, it would have to be the hottest day so far that the fish pond pumps ground to a halt. Emergency action required by two with no sense, out in the midday sun.
The unwinding of the net so we could have a good inspection. Separating the weed, to grab the rope to pull the pump onto the edge of the pond. All kinds of water creatures, made hasty escapes, into water puddles or with a plop, back into the pond.
This is the time H, goes into his rant, the script never changes. 'We are too old for this, let's get rid of the fish. It is a filthy job.'
My contribution is silence until it is repeated too often with the addition of colourful language.
'Enough! You know how much we love their presence, floating around in the pond. It is so relaxing, watching them and listening to the water fountain splashing. You would miss them! You know you would!'
Open pump, fierce hose spray, wire brush scrub, reassembled. Dangled back into the pond, on the end of a rope, before reattachment.
Attention is given to the other end, the big dustbin-sized filter. Another hose pipe attached turned on. Followed by human strenuous exercise of rotating a handle, to move the foam balls inside to release the unmentionable dross into a flower bed, then to another and another. Good for all concerned.
Only one problem. It is still not giving us enough output, to cheer a fantastic fountain. A bit of a damp squib.
Hot sun, stopped play, investigation to be resumed when the sun's heat starts easing off for the day. We just have to have faith in our abilities to fix it, before dark and mosquito attacks.
We are still conversing, in a civilized manner and the fish know H, did not mean it. They are here to stay permanently as usual.
© Penny Wobbly of WobblingPen
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