The Bunny Bacchus (mr_wombat) wrote,
The Bunny Bacchus
mr_wombat

Annals of Pain II

I grew up on a farm, or what was once a farm before our greedy bastard neighbours used a clause in the long term land rental agreement to buy out most of the land in the area (around the time I was born we owned everything you could see from our house and well beyond - which is less than you might think since Cavan is entirely hills, lakes and potholes). A lot of land basically.

So anyway, there were a lot of barns and sheds around the place, they were great, they were our bases and bunkers and castles and sniper points as kids. Mum refered to them as "those fucking deathtraps" but she knew nothing. We lost a fair chunk of hiding places one summer when our neighbour decided to help Mum and Dad out by clearing out the loft of one of the sheds of all the ancient hay that was up there (no kidding, some of the hay up there was thirty years old - vintage hay) in preperation for knocking out the floor of the lofts.

So there he is, pitchfork in hand, shovelling hay out into a massive pile to one side of the yard, cigarette perched on his lip.

He burned the fucking shed to the ground.

Not that I did much better, a few years later I was moving some lumber around from shed to shed. We stockpiled it in one shed across the road from us and chopped it in another one beside the house. So I'm driving the tractor to and fro with a transport boxes full of wood to be chopped. See, when other people say things like "I never wanted to be a software developer, I wanted to be a lumberjack!" they're probably lieing, personally I actually wanted to be a lumberjack, I was pretty handy with an axe too, chainsaws weren't my thing exactly and I nearly took out my grandad the one time he actually let me cut down a tree, but I could have been a contender nonetheless. So I'm making the return trip to get the last load for the day having probably reduced about two tree trunks to firewood.
Now the woodshed is basically an ancient barn that the walls rotted off of several years ago leaving only the supporting legs. Getting between the house and the woodshed required careful driving but I'd done it several times already that day, which turned out to be my downfall.

I momentarially forgot the difference between reverse and first gear and tore one of the supporting legs at the ground. Birds stopped singing, grashoppers ceased their chirping and looked at me. Even the dogs gave me a look that said "You are so fucked"

I stopped the tractor and climbed down to survey the destruction I had wrought and realised there was no way in hell any amount of judiciously placed wood or bushes was going to disguise the fact that she shed was now creaking alarmingly and well on it's way to falling in half, probably taking out the now stationary tractor for good measure. I hopped back in and restarted it, moved it around and tried to push the support back in by reversing slowly into it. Panic making me forget that there is no "slow" or "fast" in reverse on an old tractor, there is merly "jerk back quickly and then move really quickly". One alarming crunch later I abandoned the plan and got out again.

Even the dogs had made themselves scarce. I grabbed the support and tried pushing it back myself with no luck. Realising that I couldn't make it any worse I decided to go for broke, grabbed the support firmly and gave a herculean heave and through some sort of divine intervention I could never explain, managed to actually lift the collapsing end of the shed and heave the support back into place. If I tried it now my spine would probably come out through my ass but I managed it nonetheless.

Anyway, where was I?... oh yeah.. sheds.

Dad rebuilt a garage where that shed used to be and did a pretty good job of it all things said. He put in electricity and everything (these sheds were built in the time of King Arthur and never updated) and also wired up some of the other sheds with lights and stuff with whatever he had left. Unfortunately this meant he used some dangling wires and an old ceramic wall switch. A perfectly okay setup if the bloody switch was attached to the wall.
I went into the shed one night to get something, I forget what exactly (and some other portions of my life) and reached around for the switch, my flailing arm hit it and sort of missed. I heard something clatter to the ground and though I'd knocked something over. I reached around again and found the wires and though "I will merely drag my hands down these wires, find the switch and flick it on" or to be more accurate "stupid dad, why couldn't he just put this beside the door"

Some of you might see what's coming at this stage. My hand followed the wires down, reached the end and grabbed the bare live wires that were exposed when I managed to knock the switch off them. I was thrown back (or threw myself back, God only knows) and woke up in some old carpets on the other side of the shed a minute or two later able to remember the war of independence with amazing clarity.
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