Drought - An urgent appeal

Hello. I’m vaguely famous, and I’m here today to tell you about a terrible problem, and to ask for your help. There are some people in the barren lowlands of the South of England who, due to a terrible drought, are unable to keep their swimming pools full, or water their tennis court every day. They need YOUR help...

In an unprecedented piece of stating the bleeping obvious, it has been announced that a lot of the South and East of England has worryingly low water reserves, due to the fact that it hasn’t rained much. And for quite a long time.

This is shocking news indeed. As you may have gathered, I’m not a native Cumbrianer, so news that places I wandered round in my top hat and tails, whilst shouting at foreigners (and the Welsh), are suffering so terribly cuts to my very soul. Although, after that ill-advised pact with the devil for good tickets to a Sonia gig, I’m not entirely clear as to who is currently feeling the pain.

Actually, it is possible to tell I’m not from round here originally, because I still occasionally get startled by:

a) The very big hills
 

b) Roads classified as ‘A’ that have more curves that a bag of bananas, and more narrow bits that Victoria Beckham

c) The vast quantities of tiny sheep that magically start appearing around now, then mysteriously all vanish again a few months  later

4) My inability to remember what I was doing when I started a list
 

q) A complete lack of attention to detail when it comes to consistency with list numbering

Ah. Anyway, despite there having been numerous times of drought in the past, we don’t seem to have learnt any lessons. I was there, man – in ’76. You don’t know what it was like! We had to fill a bucket from a tap, up the road! *sobs uncontrollably* How can you know? You weren’t THERE, man!

Sorry about that. Every time we get another drought, we have lots of eminent watery experts saying we should have a network of pipes, moving water from moist areas to dry ones. And then, when it’s all got a bit better, and the grass isn’t yellow anymore, and birds don’t sit on your windowsill, looking longingly at the taps, we forget all about that good idea. Until the next time.

We’re clever people right? (Although, see my previous posts for exceptions to that statement). So why don’t we actually do something about it this time? What with all the global warming, changing weather patterns and some other complicated sciency stuff, it looks set to become a more frequent occurrence. So surely we need to stop talking, and start tunnelling? (Note to self - Use that phrase in a meeting at some point.)
 

Sure, it’ll cost a lot of money. But we’re already skint, so what the heck? More importantly, some of us are getting thirsty too.

I propose we erect signs, next to the “Welcome to Cumbria” ones, that say “You can have some of our water, if you knock a few quid off the cost of our fruit and veg, and stop getting all over-excited when you see a snowflake and close all the airports”.
 

Blimey. I’m going native.

So, *adopts B-list celebrity voice* here’s how you can help. Take that empty Tesco Value cider 5 litre bottle, and fill it up with rain water. It shouldn’t be hard to find – there’s lots of it, all over the place. Then post it to “The South”. 

Bless you.

(Cripes – a topical post. I do apologise. I’ll get back to ranting again shortly. In the meantime, thank you for getting me through to the last 9 in Big Blogger, I really appreciate it. I’ll get my Mum to tell your Mum that I think you’re really nice, and maybe you can come over for tea. We’re having Alphabetti Spaghetti, although I have to have it with the letter after O removed, as I’m allergic to P’s.)