IT'S LIKE THUNDER! LIGHTENING!

Saturday morning.

It was a nice, mild morning, and the French doors between the bedroom and verandah were open, and the morning light was streaming in.

It was raining, strangely.  Typical summer shower.  Love the sound of it on the tin roof.

Charlie was snoring his arse off next to me, and I was just laying there, half dozing, eyes closed, pump strapped in place.

Yeah.

A God almighty crack startled me, and a massive flash stung my closed eyes.

A lightening strike.  And close to the house too, cos my ears were still ringing.

Charlie absolutely shit himself. 

He leapt out of bed, and stood braced on the other side of the room, facing the doors, hands in fists ready to punch whoever had just fired that gun.

He seriously thought it was a gunshot.  I don’t blame him; he was asleep and it did sound like a gunshot.

‘What the fuck?’ he muttered, half dazed.

‘Summer storm, love.’ I yawned.  ‘We’ve lost power.’

‘Fucken great.’ He drops his arms.  ‘I’ll check the box.’

A few minutes later, he comes back and says that there’s no power coming into the meter.  ‘The thunder must have fucked it somehow,’

‘That wasn’t thunder, love.  It was a lightening strike.  And close to the house too.’

‘Really?’

‘Yep.  Lit the joint up like a fucken hospital theatre.’ And I would fucken know.

‘Give it half an hour, and see if it comes back on.’

Half an hour later, I’m climbing out of bed, throwing on my jimmies, and trudging down the hallway to the fridge.  The power company’s number is on a magnet on the fridge.  Yay me.

‘It was a lightening strike close to the house…’ I find myself explaining to the very nice lady at Power Corp.  ‘I don’t know if anyone else in the area is affected…’

‘Have you made contact with any of your neighbours?’ she asked.

‘Our nearest neighbour is half a kilometre away, and it’s a tad too early to call them….’ It was 7.30am.

‘Fair enough.  Look; we’ll get someone out there to have a look as quickly as we can.  Are you home all day?’

‘Nope.  We’ll be gone by lunchtime.’ Charlie had to pick up a couple of butchered cows from the butcher, and deliver them, then he was picking up Jade and I, and we were heading down to Dromana to visiting my bffl’s for the weekend.

‘Well, as long as he can access the meter and the pole, you won’t need to be home.’

‘Sweet!’

An hour later, after Charlie finally dragged his arse out of bed, the power dude turned up, changed over the blown fuse, and power was restored.

I couldn’t believe it! An hour! How awesome was that service!  Yeaheah!!  Fuck should for what they charge me… don’t get me started on that!

However, this is when I discovered a major, major problem.

Charlie had left to go and collect the meat, and Jade was sitting at the computer wasting an enormous amount of time doing fuck all.

I had finished packing my order to be delivered on the way to Dromana, strolled into the bedroom to pack an overnight bag, and realised that my new cpap machine (Bertha II), was dead.

My heart leapt to my throat.  You’ve got to be fucken kidding me! NO!!!

I switched it off and on at the power point.  Nothing.  I unplugged it, turned it upside down to see if there was a reset button on it.  Nothing.  I plugged it in again and switched it on.  Nothing.  Bertha II was dead.

Holy fuck.  What am I supposed to do now?  I need my cpap! I’m going away for the weekend!!!

I’ll ring the chemist! OMG! Im’ going through Dandenong! I’ll ring them and tell them what’s happened.

‘So, we’ve had a power failure, and the power’s back on, but my cpap is dead!’ I explained to the chemist, desperately trying to control my hysteria.  ‘I live a couple of hours away from you, but coincidentally, am heading through Dandenong on the way to the peninsula.  Can I drop it in for you to look at?’

‘Certainly.  Drop it in, but we’ll have to send it into Fisher & Paykel to have a look at.  We can’t do anything with it here.’

‘Fair enough.  I can do that.  However, I have another problem.  I need a cpap machine.  I cannot sleep without one.  Can I hire one through you?’

‘Certainly.  If you can be down here by one o’clock, I’ll take in your old machine, and we’ll organise a hire one for you.’

‘Sweet!!’  Twenty minutes later, I had changed, tidied myself up, packed the car, call Charlie to tell him that I couldn’t wait for him, and I’d meet him in Dromana, and I was on my way to The Nong.

What a pain in the arse taking two cars to Dromana.

Two hours later (Melbourne freeways are a dream run non-peak), I hit The Nong.

I drove along the service road of the main highway, hoping to get a car park anywhere, as the realisation that I was heading into The Nong a week before Christmas, at 12pm on a Saturday when not only was the local market open, but every other fucken in the Southern Hemisphere would be out and about.

Fuck.

As I get a little closer to the chemist, the fuckwit in front of me decides to stop in the middle of the service lane, and tries to reverse backward so he can grab the park of the car he just passed.  Of course that stops me and the tossbag behind me in his hotted up 4WD, who insists on screaming obscenities at both myself and the fool in front of me.

So he reverses back, somehow manages not to hit my rental car (thank fuck, because all I could think is it’s a $1000 excess), and through a sheer miracle, the dude in the car park manages to back out without hitting any of us, and drives off, allowing the fool to slip into his space.

4WD fuckwit is still screaming behind me.  Fucken 4WD owners.

I drive a little further down the service lane, 4WD fuckwit behind me, and slip into a 15 minute car space.  4WD fuckwit slips in beside me.  He’s still carrying on.

I get out, grab Bertha II, and lock the car, all whilst 4WD fuckwit is telling me that I should have gone around him.  He’s going on and on, and because I’ve had a front-bum of a day so far, I end up losing my shit (as you can imagine).

‘Listen fuckwit!  I’m not in the mood for your arrogant fucken shit!  I don’t care what you think I could have done; clearly, he was too close to me to go around! Why the fuck didn’t you go around, instead of sitting there like a loud mouth wanker?’

‘Because I was too fucken close to you!’  he yelled back at me, trying to look all tough in his way-too tight white t-shirt and sunnies.  Fuckwit.

‘Oh, so if you can’t get around me, how the fuck do you expect me to get around him, you fucken clown?’

‘Ahhhh….’ He waves his arms and starts walking away.  ‘You should have gone around him!’ he calls over his shoulder.

‘And considering you’re walking away, I’ll take it that I’m right and you can’t be fucked arguing anymore, you fucken git.’ I say to his back.  Fuckwit.

Two people on the sidewalk watching laughed.

Fucken clown.

Half an hour later (and me thanking God that I don’t have a parking ticket, and 4WD fuckwit hasn’t keyed my rental), I’m in possession of a rented Bertha and on my way to Dingley to drop off my order.

Charlie rings to tell me that they’ve left and is on the way to the peninsula, and I start to relax as things seem to be falling into place.

Fucken thunderstorms and lightening strikes.  Fucked my day.

We later found out that it also fucked the DVD player in the lounge.  Someone had forgotten to turn the tv and DVD units off from the power point before they went to bed the night before (JADE!!!), so no DVD’s in the lounge for her.  Not that she gives a fuck: she’s leaving in two weeks!!

No DVD’s in the lounge for Charlie and I for a while.  Fucken.

Peace out.