My Dad is a pretty determined and independent old bugger. He's always done things for himself and he can't see why that should change despite his advancing years. He's set in his ways. One of the things he's adamant about is only drinking tank water. He has three water tanks in his backyard to keep him supplied, and carries a bottle of his tank water with him when he goes out. He won't drink the bottled water you buy. He doesn't trust the stuff, and why should he pay for it when he can get it for free from his own water tank? A few summers ago, one of Dad's water tanks was empty so he decided to scrub it out. My brother, sister, and I were round visiting this day when Dad says, "Come out here and give me a hand." Out we go to the backyard and there's his 5000 litre water tank lying on its side. I don't know how he got it down off the tank stand by himself—it's best not to ask. "Hold this tank steady for me," he says, stripping down to his shorts and turning the hose on. He grabs a broom and bends down to get in the access hole, which wasn't very big. "You can't get in there," I cried. "Get Rod to do it." Before my brother had time to answer, Dad says, "He won't fit through the bloody hole." That was true enough. "I'll do it then," I said. "No bloody fear! I'll do it meself." And with that he squeezed himself through the hole and began scrubbing. Every so often he'd call out to us to roll the tank a little so he could scrub the next bit. So here we were rolling this 5000 litre tank across the backyard with our 84 year old Dad inside it. I was terrified he'd fall and break a hip because he'd lathered the inside with detergent. But he kept his feet, and the detergent undoubtedly aided his slipping out again. The next time I visited, the water tank was back up on the stand—most likely by the same ingenious method he'd used to get it down—and Dad was onto his next project. I only hoped he wasn't off to clean the roof tiles.
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