Forty seven days ago I wrote about the trials of living off the grid.
Forty seven days ago I had endless amounts of clean underwear to choose from every single day.
Forty seven days ago I was able to watch TV pretty much whenever I felt like it.
Forty seven days ago I never dreamt I would wish we had a pit toilet.
Forty seven days ago what the hell was I complaining about?
Life off the grid has not been much fun in June. July and August are not looking particularly brilliant either. September, you had better be stupendous. I’m moving out if you’re not.
Before I go on though, let me tell you why June has been such a scheisse of a month and how hopefully, things will improve immensely.
First of all, after waiting impatiently for three weeks Mr Solar finally came. He inspected our solar system thoroughly and came to the conclusion that our four year old cottage has twenty year old solar batteries.
Twenty year old, second hand solar batteries, thank you very much. He also pointed out that whoever installed the system was not an expert and had little idea of what they were actually doing. Fabulous!
I very bravely didn’t cry as I stood there in my pj’s. Yeah the sun wasn’t shining enough for me to have a shower that morning. Instead, I very calmly asked him how much it would cost to rectify the situation. Then I fainted.
But in reality I would pretty much pay anything for life to return to normal at this point. A life with an endless supply of electricity where we didn’t have to rely on the introverted, winter sun, bliss.
I can’t remember when I last watched TV just because I could. What a luxury that was. And with an endless supply of electricity we would be able to buy ice cream, icy poles and sorbet without it pooling into a squishy, sopping mess at the bottom of the freezer. Ah the memories.
The toaster and the sandwich press could return to live in the house instead of in the cold, crowded, storage container, bringing with them the clothes dryer and the microwave. Microwave? I forgot you even existed!
We could read in bed with the light on instead of trying to decipher words by candlelight. Oh hang on, we could read in the lounge/dining/kitchen. We would actually be able to see at night. Oh the novelty of it all!
The washing machine would wash our dirty, stinky clothes on demand. We wouldn’t have to wait for a sunny day. Can you imagine?
I could vacuum! Actually vacuum the carpets more than once a fortnight. No more endless sneezing from the dust. Oh happy days.
Probably the best thing of all though, would be to flush the toilet after every single visit and not have to wait for the pump to turn back on whenever it felt like turning back on. Now that would seriously be the most wonderful thing of all.
But of course it hasn’t all been doom and gloom. It turns out I can whipper snipper like a pro. Smarts doesn’t trust me with the chain saw though. Whenever he happens to glance my way I hiss, “Chauvinist!” He replies, “Amputee!” Pfft.
I can’t seem to stop digging garden beds and now have a small market garden. So if you’re ever in the need for strawberries, blueberries, chilies and endless amounts of all things vegetable let me know.
And as the day comes to an end and I glance out over our front paddock I see the cows who, at any day, will give birth to the calves which I will rear. And a mob of kangaroos jumping down to the dam followed closely by the two cantankerous magpies who reign supreme, or think they do, over our land, (please someone shoot them). Those are the little things that make living out here beautiful. Until the sun refuses to shine again, of course.