A diligent passer-bye on the road spots a big ugly turd floating in the middle of the town's reservoir. He goes to the town's Water Authority, finds everyone is out to lunch but reads a report gathering dust on the Water Integrity desk that identifies two or three swimmers responsible for the turd. He goes to the town's newspaper and hands it all over for a front page spread the next morning.
Out it comes and everyone from the town rush to the reservoir to exclaim their horror and disgust, followed by everyone in the Shire and the entire country. Not only does everyone swear that they'll never swim there again, they stop using the water at their homes - which creates a big problem for the Water Authority as their income, indeed their very survival, depends on everyone drinking from the reservoir - not bottled Mt. Franklin stuff or bubbly Perrier. AND, especially not a couple of days out from the Grand Water Celebration.
But they know how these things work, they've faced this kind of outrage before. They offer a sympathetic ear and express regret, promising to bring in an elite SAS unit to get to the bottom of the problem and to - once and for all - to get rid of the turd with a bloody big net that also scoops up any sludge around the shoreline.
The two or three identified swimmers proclaim their total innocence and go off on holidays. Eventually, it comes out that there's no cctv footage and that they've been victimised unfairly.
The town's Water Authority understand that the attention of the world is on them. But they know how to work it - you pretend to be sincere and active in assuring everyone that the water is safe - or at least will be, by hook or by crook - and eventually the turd will dissolve, spread across the reservoir and vanish. Like so many turds of the past, you just have to weather the storm and let Father Time dissipate everyone's interest and memory.
Ya tuff it out and move on - heaps of great water for everyone. Dinkum.
