Friday 22 November 2019

Knockroe Spring

. . . good to the last drop.
With commendable, almost embarrassing, efficiency, Our Lady of Smartie has answered our prayer to tell us that the bore hole sunk in the corner of our yard in Summer 1996 is [still] coliform-free! It's one of the aspects of rural life that you can be entirely without symptoms even when consuming large quantities of bacteria - especially if you don't move about much. If your well is contaminated with coliform, because the shit-hole is leaking into the domestic plumbing, at least it's your coliform. I guess it helps if all the fluid you drink passes your lips as scalding hot, mortal strong, tea.

You could be years drinking from the contaminated kitchen tap with not a bother on you . . . and not realise why Uncle Jack from Baltimore spends the last few days of his visit on the t'ilet. And the kids, with the cruelty natural to their tribe, start to call him Uncle Jacks. If he stays on, his guts will soon settle down to the assault and come to an equilibrium; sure, doesn't he have half of his genes in common with your mother?

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