The dirty digger labour weekend..

26 Oct

Okay, so Deane wants a digger. It is in the heart of every man to own their own ‘little yellow digger’. (Apparently.) So, as it happened, he did buy his little yellow digger;except it was blue and orange and a bit gungey. He ‘put’ it on the borrowed trailer (which umm…broke-however a lot of stress and $300++ later, is fixed), the digger arrived at the bottom of our terrace walkway and my love proceeds to drive the digger up the steep, stair embedded terrace. The terrace walkway is only wide enough to let the digger sqeeze through and up. (Deane hired a digger of similar size a few months ago and drove it up; amidst amazed terrace dweller onlookers. The men all wanted to borrow it to do a spot of ‘digging’ and the women feared for their loved ones lives..)

Anyhoo, he is driving the digger up but somehow lost his focus and the one tonne bottom heavy digger flipped backward, leaving its treads in the air like a weird tree. Deane luckily escaped unscathed. I discovered the digger mishap because young Harry, who had been with Deane, had come running in the door, crying that he needed his blue inhaler. He thought he was having an asthma attack. (He hadnt had one for four years.) I, unable to find his blue inhaler inside, thought it maybe in one of the cars. I ran down the 135 stairs, searched the cars and not successful, hurled myself upwards, attacking the stairs like a… a middle aged woman. I wasnt too concerned about Harry, he wasnt wheezing when he rushed in the door. I was sure something else was afoot!. I had left him with Aunty Deborah rubbing his back and soothing him into a calm state. So, I went down our ‘other’ entrance, the terrace. It was strange because I could not hear the digger engine struggling up the hill. I got to the fork at the top of the terrace and looking down, I spotted Deane just standing staring at the treads of the digger. He was rubbing his hand. His whole demeanour yelled ‘what the fcuk!?“…

tipped over digger in the lane...
tipped over digger in the lane…

I went to him. He was Okay, just a bit shocked. (later;on getting the story from Harry, I worked out that Harry wittnessed the digger tipping over and had booted it outta there, and had run in the door with the asthma story. The poor kid had thought his dad was crushed and obviously couldnt comprehend it. He never even mentioned the digger flipping at the time. It was all about the ‘asthma’.)  Deane and a kind neighbour, sort of strapped the digger up to different trees and posts in the lane and then called the fire brigade. The digger was leaking diesel and the electronics were a bit sparky. Two fire truck screamed their way from town and were at the ‘scene’ within five minutes. The kids and I and Aunty Deborah stood a respectful distance while the ten kitted up fire fighters and D figured out what to do. Eventually, tired of the mosquitos, the kids and Deb and I trailed home leaving the men to it. Deane arrived approx. 3 hours later having only been able to get the digger to the front of the terrace, the right way up. He was stressed and exhausted.

This is the digger the morning after, leaving a wide enough gap for residents to walk through or push bikes through. Today he is still attempting to fire the engine up but the beast wont start. One angry neighbour, has phoned me a few times and attempted to ‘fix’ the problem by abusing me personally and threatning all sorts of yummy legal scenarios. Deane of course has not been at home to talk to him as he is running around trying to solve the problem. Never the less, angry-neighbour-guy called the council and the council sent a lovely ‘council guy’ over to check it all out. He was very understanding and really wanted to get home to watch a footy game. We also wanted him home watching footy. The digger drama is still ‘in play’, but luckily it is a long (cold,rainy) weekend so there is an extra day to sort it out.


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