But it is no joke.
Mr Gray, wife Julie and children CJ and Marika are in a hell of nature's making.
Before Tuesday's crippling shake, the backyard of their Housing Corporation home in Riselaw St, Shirley, in suburban Christchurch, was an expanse of grass.
Now it is covered in 30cm of grey silt, forced up through the ground in the terrifying earthquake that left Mr Gray clutching a door frame as his television danced on the floor.
Around the corner, just a rifle shot from the crippled central business district, water is sploshing - running - in the contorted streets.
Every one of the streets in the tight-knit community is buckled and pockmarked.
A car is parked near Des Gray's house. It is abandoned in the middle of the road. Cars just skirt around it.
But the car and the water are not on Des Gray's mind.
He is trying, shovelful by shovelful.
Mr Gray has advanced Parkinson's, and his body shakes as he stands.
He wants to work - would love to - but cannot.
But he can lift a shovel and, with CJ's help, has carted barrowloads of the filthy stuff to the street.
Before it arrived, Mr Gray saw a fountain in the yard. Or, at least, it looked like a fountain.
"Water was coming up through the soil. It kept coming for 10 minutes. Straight after that the sand came."
And it is there still.
Mr Gray did not want to experience another shake after the crippling September 4 quake. It shook the family's house so violently Mr Gray landed on the floor, breaking his elbow.
He has a metal plate to show for it.
So when the ground started shaking again before 1pm on Tuesday, Mr Gray braced himself against a door frame.
The elbow, this time, was spared.
As he and CJ struggled in the silt, wife Julie was out checking on the welfare of friends and neighbours.
That's the way it is in Shirley.
All for one, one for all.
But though they have power - unlike much of Christchurch - the Grays have no running water.
That's the killer.
No running water means no showers, no baths, no flushing the toilet.
Mr Gray says he has improvised. His toilet system involves a plastic bag and fastening. When the bag is full, it will be buried.
Drinking water has been collected from a council station.
"We can have a cup of tea."
Mr Gray, though he has his share of problems and is worried about family, is not complaining.
"I'm keeping busy."
Around the road at Shirley Primary School, school principal Pauline Matsis has joined the queue for water.
It is being dispensed by a young soldier.
The sand at the Matsis' Burwood house is up to half a metre deep in places.
It is liquefaction at its worst, the result of violent shaking of the ground.
And it is everywhere, choking driveways, lawns - and even moving indoors.
"It's unbelievable - it's in the garage, in the sheds. We're shifting it a bit at a time. Family and neighbours are helping."
And, like the Grays, many of those in the queue for water at Shirley are using plastic bags for toilets, or simply not flushing.
In Dallington, Beryl Williamson has a heart-warming tale.
There is no running water at her home, so she visited friends who had it.
In the end, though, they decided not to shower, thinking it selfish to use water when others could not.
Across the road, Warwick Edwards has an artesian well, so he has put up a little sign saying water is available.
It is a similar story in other parts of Christchurch - water bubbling from the ground is offered free to all.
A grinning Mr Edwards remarks that the flow in his well improved after the September shake, and has improved even further after Tuesday's disaster.
They joke and chat in Mundy St as another neighbour listens to Christchurch Mayor Bob Parker, a tiny radio pressed to her ear. He says council staff will begin clearing silt from streets.
At her feet, and down the street, there are piles of silt.
Streets in Dallington, Avonside and other eastern suburbs are torn and bent.
In places, deep holes are marked with red cones, while in other spots rubbish bins mark the danger spot.
Mundy St resident Gilbert Crotty says the Aborigines of Australia have the answer - they travel light.
He says people in this modern world collect things and then worry about leaving them.
He shakes his head when told by a neighbour thieves have stolen three generators overnight.
Christchurch, though united by tragedy, is a city apart.
Some suburbs, at a glance, appear undamaged.
In leafy Memorial Ave, couples walk hand-in-hand. Traffic lights are working, roads and shops are open.
A short drive away, there is suburban chaos: houses are buckled, a new property near the Avon River on the way to Brighton has had its drive washed away.
Others, like the home of Des Gray, have sunk.
The streets around the river are usable but obviously beyond repair.
They will have to be rebuilt.
There are signs everywhere urging non-residents to stay away.
In Shirley, Des Gray is tired of "rubberneckers".
Around the corner from his house, an upset woman walks to the end of her short drive every time a car ploughs through the water outside her new home.
Each vehicle creates a bow wave, and each wave washes up the drive.
She tries to shoo the water away.
Stress is taking its toll.
Christchurch residents say they are coping, but they are leaving in droves. There are long queues at the service stations that are open, and the traffic heading south out of Christchurch is at unprecedented levels.
Christchurch residents swoop on petrol, buckets, bottled water and bread at stores as far south as Geraldine.
A couple of days after the shake, Geraldine's bread shelves are empty and signs warn that incoming supplies will be limited.
Writer/actor David McPhail told radio listeners this week, his voice charged with emotion, that he doubts Christchurch, for all its willingness to rebuild, for all its community spirit, will ever really be the same again.
He is probably right.
The centre of the city has been damaged beyond repair, and many lives have been lost. The buildings, eventually, will be cleared. That work will take months, possibly longer.
Christchurch will be rebuilt. It will take years. Christchurch changed at 12.51pm on Tuesday, February 22.
People died, or lay dying. For that reason alone, Christchurch will never be the same.
But Christchurch is known for its sense of community.
No quake will knock that down. Not ever.
• John Keast works for the Allied Press newspaper The Courier, in Ashburton.
