I’m glad someone told the prawns not to reproduce

I’m glad someone told the prawns not to reproduce

I hear there’s been an excessive amount of poo in our rivers.

And Logan is again the butt of all jokes. Nothing we can back out of, not even if we push it.

There’s no time to waste. The rivers are running. Log this moment as one of the darkest in our history.

Oh, I could go all day. There are more puns in poo than anything else on the planet. We’re fascinated by the stuff.

But not to the extent, or so it would seem, that we’re overly bothered by a pipe leak being labelled in some corners as the worst in our lifetime.

Rather, we sit back, laugh at the gags being thrown around on our socials by people we’re relieved (yes, another pun) have day jobs because as comedians they make wonderful teachers, bankers, accountants, welders, whatever.

And we let good old Tommy “Teflon” Tate and his crew wash their hands of the overflow as if nothing happened.

From what I’m reading from our own mayor, the whole leak thing started from a property on the Gold Coast, from where, let’s say “lots” of litres of crappy water was let loose into the Albert and Logan rivers.

Sure, a tick in the bad guys’ column for letting the poor old prawn farmers know that they should – temporarily, at least – let their crustaceans be aware that now was not a great time to reproduce.

Cool your jets, little ones. For the time being we’ll all be limp shrimp while the authorities find out what the hell happened, and how the hell they might fix it.

Behind closed doors, Logan council officers will have been testing the water, probably telling Gold Coast officers that something had gone awry.

After three months of throwing our hands up, our southern neighbours lift themselves from a beach towel, tie up their Speedos and bikinis, and work out there’s been a leak from a paddock for three months.

The communicators panic, throw out a “nothing to see here” message to ratepayers, and promptly patch up the pipe.

Tests, they told us, came up clean. The water’s fine, they said.

But just don’t eat the fish.

In the meantime, this newspaper runs a photo on the front page of blokes casting a line in an attempt to feed the family, blissfully ignorant that their tackle was way too close to effluent for comfort.

And Gold Coast City Council scribes in the background were telling us they’ll huddle in a bunker and “investigate” in great detail what might have gone wrong.

In a few weeks, they’ll release a report, probably without pomp and ceremony, which says in deep engineering lingo that they did all they could under the circumstances.

Nobody really wants to make waves with the golden children from the beach because, well, we might need them one day.

Who knows? They might concede that three months was a fraction too long to leave a sewage squirt billowing into the river.

They’ll tell us not to worry. The water was worth bottling, and there had been no reports of ill-health, as if that was the point.

There will be no apology, for a number of reasons. That would be to admit fault, and no public servant wants to put their job on the line in the name of truth.

It would also risk putting Teflon Tom into the poo.

And at the end of the day, the river runs north which means it was really Logan’s problem.

As someone said on social media: “It doesn’t matter, because the rivers are full of it anyway.”

At the prawn farm, the disco balls are back up and the shrimp are again dancing their way to the fisho.

It’s like nothing happened – a win for both councils.

Hey Wanda, I think I’m okay with a toasted cheese and tomato toastie tonight. Make it myself, you say? Yes, dear.

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