There’s a hole in my bucket
Martin Doyle
NOT far from our house is a very long truck.
It’s one of those gigantic semi-trailers which lug long beams and containers and things to building sites round the North Island. I noticed the other day that there was a huge concrete block (the size of a couple fridges) on the tray. It must have weighed a tonne. And straight away I started thinking about what you’d do with a block of concrete that big. I won’t go through all my thoughts, but one of the most satisfying ideas that came to me was this: I could uplift the block from the truck using a giant transport helicopter, and then fly to Cuba Mall and drop the block directly down on the Bucket Fountain. And I would feel very good about doing this because I know I would have pulled a nauseous thorn out of the (cultural) side of Wellington. And, so as not to leave a further grotesquerie in the wake of the one I’d crushed, I would of course fly down, reattach the hoisting straps, and fly away again with the block back to my neighbour’s truck [The flattened fountain could be used for scrap iron].
From all this, you can probably guess I’m not a great fan of the Bucket Fountain. I’ve never liked it. The top bucket fills with water, then flops over and spews its contents into the bucket below it, that one fills and then flops over and ... No, no, don’t get me going. It’s a nightmare image of some dumb-klutz domino effect played out in coloured buckets and wasted water. But I don’t lie awake at night grinding my teeth about it, either. I just avoid even looking at it. But that doesn’t always protect you from such structures. On the weekend, making my way with others up the mall to a restaurant, there was a gust of wind and shower of icy water off the Bucket Fountain sloshed onto the side of my body. Rage is not strong enough to describe my feelings. Fortunately, the others were able to restrain me and a good time was had by all.
As far as I know, no one who lives here likes that fountain. Like Wellingtonians over the decades, we have learned to just live with the unrelenting line of zombie public art that keeps dropping off the end of the bureaucratic conveyor belt. Then on Thursday, when I casually spat out a reference to my ‘baptism by the fountain’, on Facebook, I was shocked when a person of fine qualities (actor, singer, writer) said she liked the fountain. I hasten to add she’s an Aucklander and was operating off an impression she got when she last saw the Bucket Fountain about 40 years ago.
So, let’s not say it’s never brought joy to anyone’s heart. And, certainly anything can grow on you after a while. But this uncouth and malignant growth needs removing.
It’s one of those gigantic semi-trailers which lug long beams and containers and things to building sites round the North Island. I noticed the other day that there was a huge concrete block (the size of a couple fridges) on the tray. It must have weighed a tonne. And straight away I started thinking about what you’d do with a block of concrete that big. I won’t go through all my thoughts, but one of the most satisfying ideas that came to me was this: I could uplift the block from the truck using a giant transport helicopter, and then fly to Cuba Mall and drop the block directly down on the Bucket Fountain. And I would feel very good about doing this because I know I would have pulled a nauseous thorn out of the (cultural) side of Wellington. And, so as not to leave a further grotesquerie in the wake of the one I’d crushed, I would of course fly down, reattach the hoisting straps, and fly away again with the block back to my neighbour’s truck [The flattened fountain could be used for scrap iron].
From all this, you can probably guess I’m not a great fan of the Bucket Fountain. I’ve never liked it. The top bucket fills with water, then flops over and spews its contents into the bucket below it, that one fills and then flops over and ... No, no, don’t get me going. It’s a nightmare image of some dumb-klutz domino effect played out in coloured buckets and wasted water. But I don’t lie awake at night grinding my teeth about it, either. I just avoid even looking at it. But that doesn’t always protect you from such structures. On the weekend, making my way with others up the mall to a restaurant, there was a gust of wind and shower of icy water off the Bucket Fountain sloshed onto the side of my body. Rage is not strong enough to describe my feelings. Fortunately, the others were able to restrain me and a good time was had by all.
As far as I know, no one who lives here likes that fountain. Like Wellingtonians over the decades, we have learned to just live with the unrelenting line of zombie public art that keeps dropping off the end of the bureaucratic conveyor belt. Then on Thursday, when I casually spat out a reference to my ‘baptism by the fountain’, on Facebook, I was shocked when a person of fine qualities (actor, singer, writer) said she liked the fountain. I hasten to add she’s an Aucklander and was operating off an impression she got when she last saw the Bucket Fountain about 40 years ago.
So, let’s not say it’s never brought joy to anyone’s heart. And, certainly anything can grow on you after a while. But this uncouth and malignant growth needs removing.
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