A good while ago, Carole had two tyres replaced on the car and was given the option, for some reason, to bring the tyres home.
Which she did.
And we used them in the garden as planters for a while. Or as a base for the big black box of stuff that lives are the bottom of the garden. Or just as things that got in the way and should never have been brought home in the first place.
It has been decided, though, that the tyres would be removed from our garden and just bloody got rid of, much as they should have been done on the fateful day whenever ago it was that we ended up keeping them for some weird arse reason.
It was my job, then, to clean them off and get the manky water out of them so they could be put in the car to take to the tip.
Fun fact – do you know what the hardest thing in the world to get water out of is? I’ll tell you.
A fucking tyre.
You tip it, the water just rolls around the inside. You tilt it, trying to catch the water unawares but nope, it just rolls around inside. You lie them down. Nope, the tyres have a lip that clever stops water getting out if they happen to have water in them.
Basically you’re stuck with water in the tyres.
I did manage to remove most of it using a brush, like I was bailing out a small boat with inadequate supplies.
And more of it by throwing the tyre into the air and letting the impact with the ground force the water out in all sorts of directions.
Including, hilariously, all over me.
Mucky, stagnant, stinky water.
All over me.
If you go and look at the back door, I reckon you could make out where I was standing just from the splatters around the door and wall that were behind me at the time.
And then, as if that wasn’t enough, there was the second one to do…