"Ambulance Chaser" by Lord Yeoman

Guy was cycling down the momentarily quiet street in the heart of the City Business District, one hand idly scratching his abdomen the other adjusting the volume of a flashy mobile phone that was blue toothing to the unit clipped to his ear.

"Loretta I am so gonna be there! you have no idea. sure I'm busy - I'm flat out as usual today - the RO has me doin' all his rush jobs as usual...yeah well maybe I am the only one who can get them done on time, or who tries to at least.. but I am gonna meet you at lunch, I know you're gonna be gone for a while and I don't want to miss our last moment together... yep down by the aquarium...5:10 on the dot...ok bye booful."

Guy and Loretta had met at the usual hang of the cycle couriers on a Friday night when they let their hair down and relaxed after mixing it up with the traffic all week. She was actually a walker, delivering regular items by just walking the CBD, so she knew of the couriers and usually avoided them but she'd fallen for Guy's laid back honesty. Riding kept him fit and gave him time to plan the house he was building in the country.

They'd gotten close but Loretta had to leave town for a while to visit her ailing Grandmother. She had no idea when she'd return as she have to stay on and care for her grandmother.

Guy was nervous, it was early days maybe things wouldn't stick. Loretta had similar fears. She'd seen plenty of the office girls that also came to the same nightspot eyeing him off at the Nelson. The couriers were young, fit and always working the scene.

Then tragedy struck. Guy was making his second last delivery for the day when the elevator he was in stopped mid floor. Every minute it delayed was ruining his chance of seeing Loretta and he couldn't use his mobile phone to call her because the signal didn't work in the building. He was distraught.

It was already 5:25 when he finally made it out onto the street but he had to make it across town to their arranged spot. It felt futile, Loretta would be catching the airport shuttle in 5 minutes thinking he didn't want to see her off.

Guy unlocked his bike from the street lamp and hit the street peddling hard, his heart in his mouth. Knowing he'd be too late didn't mean he wasn't going to try furiously.

As he neared the top of Market St, which ran down hill from Hyde Park to Darling Harbour he heard the growing sounds of his salvation without yet realising it.

Approaching from the other direction was an ambulance. As he neared the lights at Market St he saw the ambulance was turning toward the West as he was - he pumped even harder as he saw the wave he had to catch.

The traffic stopped and split as it heard the ambulance coming and Guy followed in it's wake but it drew away from him meaning he would soon be swallowed by bustling traffic. But for safety's sake the ambulance had to slow at each intersection which gave Guy the chance to make up lost ground.

Pedestrians watched amused as the sprinting cyclist caught up and trailed the ambulance through each set of lights down Market street until finally the ambulance turned off into Sussex street just meters from where Loretta was waiting.

Guy bunny-hopped the curb and sliding the bike to a standstill stepped off it and into Loretta's arms.

"Why you ambulance chaser you!" giggled Loretta. "I was almost hoping you were in that ambulance rather than standing me up."

"Sorry babe. I wasn't chasing no ambulance I was, and always will be, chasing you."

"Now you've wasted enough time, fetch me to the shuttle, and you make sure you're here when I come back," murmured Loretta as they embraced each other.

"Gasping for Air" by Lord Yeoman

I was not overly fond of the water as a youngster. I’d spent little time swimming and as a result found it hard work. Combined with a nasty experience whilst surfing a foam board, my father laughing and watching on as I got dumped repeatedly, this had me more content to duck dive around near the shore than do any marathon attempts at braving the deep. But one day I glimpsed the beauty of the depths below.
It was a loathsomely hot day in the small town I grew up in and the only relief was the river side. It was a week day and I was playing truant, hanging out at the river with my father. He was medicating his lungs with some Drum tobacco while I amused my self diving just off shore at the local boat ramp picnic area.

I had my equipment; a length of bright green nylon rope and an old orange bottle to act as my buoy. I was performing important missions moving rocks and branches around on the bottom, using a rock as a weight so I could stay submerged without using too much energy. The rope and buoy letting my father know I was still active, or at least where to find me if I wasn’t.
Then I saw it. Difficult because I didn’t even have a face mask back then but this object was not what I was used to on the river bottom. It was bright, long with dark webbing attached. It only took a microsecond for me to realize that I’d come across a scuba tank.
This was my first real underwater find. I was ecstatic. Of course I had no idea whether it was lost or abandoned but I was enthralled with having discovered something I was sure no one else would have found. Loathe to leave my find for fear of never finding it again in the murky river water I was eventually forced, gasping, to the surface to inhale again. I immediately alarmed my father by making all frantic and calling him down to the waters edge. I told him what I had found and recruited his labour, I would tie my rope to the tank then he could drag it out for me.
This was fantastic! I had a true mission with a tangible reward. I was diving at the end of the rainbow and I almost had my pot of gold on the river bank where I could count it.
It nearly went bad. I dove down but missed it and nearly drowned in my determined affort to find it but after surfacing I got my bearings and this time found the tank. I began attaching my rope but had to surface for more air but on the third dive down I secured the rope and hit the surface with my thumbs up. Pah started hauling away.
Standing there on the shore with my silt covered worn booty I was proud and gleaming. Pah and I checked it over, found there was air inside and so, after cleaning out the mouthpiece, I set about going on my first SCUBA dive.
Pah had to move the tank into position for me as it was too heavy for me to move myself. I sat down in the waters edge with the tank strapped to my back I inched my way into the water. The effort of moving the tank had me breathing heavily so the air came easily but as I relaxed I was startled to find the air stopped! I panicked, thinking the tank had run out I started scrabbling for the strap buckles to release myself from my new doom. But the panic made me drag hard on the mouthpiece and the air came back.
My little chest under the added water pressure found it hard to inflate. I continued my dive but eventually it was over. My Pah took the tank and stored it. I never saw it again but I will never forget the joy of being able to stay underwater, not needing to surface for life giving air. To this day diving is one of my favourite recreations.

"Toilets Wet, Toilets Dry" by Lord Yeoman

Water! It’s the new issue facing the world to parallel, if not take over from, the oil wars. The average household, in America the number 2 consumer of water in the world, uses 188 gallons of water per person per day, much of it wasted during chores like washing one’s teeth or flushing the toilet after a quick urination, the average cistern being 20 litres capacity.

Most westernizing countries seem to implement the water fed sewerage systems that was created in during the Roman empire with it’s above ground aqueducts for transporting water and was henceforth refined to pipes underground which usually discharge their waste into waterways we rely on for our source of drinking water.

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When I recently lived in Japan I found this to be true there, as well, but when I rented my own somewhat older building to live in I found that the only plumbing I had was cold water to a tap in the kitchen and the bathroom. The toilet being a concrete hole in the ground placed beneath a hole in the ‘toilet’ floor that was complete with a porcelain surround. The design being the same as many of the porcelain squat toilets found in most plumbed Japanese buildings.

Now although called a septic tank it was far from the enclosed system I have oft seen implemented in the rural areas of Australia. The concrete hole was not sealed from the environment and as such gave easy access to flies which could then travel to my, or another’s, kitchen table and food preparation areas. The openness of the design also allowed for easy air movement beneath my house such that during the summer I was availed of incredibly powerful odours at the far end of my house. Most noticeable when trying to go to sleep.

So I opted out. After one of the monthly emptyings of the toilet via the pump out, or ’honey’, truck I stopped using the hole. I placed a sheet of ply over the hole in the floor and cut down a large plastic bin so that it would fit under a commode toilet. I purchased sawdust at a local timber merchant's and used this liberally before and after toilet use.

When the bin was full I took it outside and placed the contents in a large garden composting bin, which allowed the liquids to escape the matter. Keeping a composting pile, of any description, from retaining too much moisture is a key strategy. When one bin was full I would leave it for over half a year and then lift of the bin. The matter was now saw dusty soil. Not a sign or odour of it’s previous manifestation. Ready for the garden and the growing of plants. Although if you wanted to play slightly paranoid one could simply cover the matter, after spreading it on a garden bed, with more soil and leave for some time before planting vegetables.

The slightest worry being that some not-killed-off pathogens might still get transferred, by flies, to food areas.
In one easy go I reduced my water usage, including the fee, the need for a very smelly pump out and again the fee, as well as, most importantly, the constant smell and risk of pathogenic contamination to me and my household guests. Even the neighbours stood a risk of getting sick from the possible vectoring of disease via flies.

The basic premise of composting faecal matter by letting it sit in a moisture controlled pile is a sound one, for those of you who may mistrust, and there’s a wealth of information on the subject. My favourite being Joseph Jenkins book The Humanure Handbook where one can find great advice on the building of their own indoor toilet.