Stop, cock.

The water thing.  Part II.

The Wessex Water workmen didn't return the next day as originally promised, which meant we had a week or so with the jerry-rigged hosepipe supplying the house with running water.  In the meantime, the local plumber was summoned. He's a very charming young chap by the name of Ollie, does a good job, is polite, friendly and doesn't demand unlimited tea and biscuits. Plus the dog loved him.  He examined the work done outside, and then ferreted around the kitchen looking for water pipes.

He ascertained that all the pipes were sited behind the (new-ish) kitchen cabinets, so went to investigate the downstairs toilet for possible pipe access.

"Oh dear," he said. "It's a really nice little room, isn't it?"

Yes it is.  Thanks for noticing.  Oh, you mean too nice to hack holes in the walls to get to the pipes?  Yes, that too.

We had a cup of tea while we decided how best to approach the problem.  The problem being that the water pipes running from the OUTSIDE of the house to the INSIDE of the house are most likely in the same terrible colander-like state of corrosion as the external water pipes, and therefore need to be replaced.

And, of course, we have to arrange - and pay for - that part of the work to be done, hence the visit from Ollie the Plumber.  The tea drunk, we decided on a plan of action.  Sadly, some of the kitchen cupboard interiors would have to be sacrificed to the greater good, but there would be no visible damage to the exteriors.  I was ok with that, and set about emptying cupboards with a will. Mr WithaY deftly dismantled the complicated corner cupboard can-store mechanism thingy, and we were ready to go.

Well.  The plumber laid out giant dustsheets all over the kitchen floor and strewed a collection of tools across them.  The dog immediately sneaked in and stole one of his screwdrivers, carrying it proudly to Mr WithaY. We returned it, and tried to teach the dog what "Get the most expensive-looking drill" means, but to no avail.

Ollie the plumber began carving holes in the back of the cabinets.  He was very careful and tidy, but even so.  When you've spent a bloody fortune having your kitchen refitted from top to bottom, it's not much fun watching it being partially dismantled and hacked about to fix something that is beyond your control.

I closed the door and the dog and I sat companionably in the sitting room, trying not to listen to the sound of holes being drilled in the house.  Every so often I would pop my head into the kitchen and see how things were going.  There was a deep, deep hole running from the back of the cupboard out to the garden.  Ollie was trying to connect it up with the hole on the other side, and wasn't having much luck, it seemed.

The drilling continued, the house shook, the dust levels increased, and the long day wore on.

Eventually the plumber came and found me.  He was unable to go any deeper until we had the septic tank emptied, as it was so full that it was backfilling the hole as fast as he pumped it out.

Ugh.

So.  We booked the nice man with the shit-sucking truck to come and do the dirty deed, and once that was complete we could get the plumber back to connect up the interior pipework.  Once THAT was done the Wessex Water chaps could come back and reconnect our water supply to the proper underground pipes rather than the temporary blue plastic hose.

It was like some sort of evil nursery rhyme.  The old lady who swallowed the fly, then swallowed the spider and so on until she swallowed a horse*.  

Anyway.  Where there was once a deep pit several inches full of dirty water, now there is a tidy patch of concrete with a neat little plastic drain cover in it.  And we have a stopcock inside the house, which I don;t think we had previously.  All we need now is the bill from the plumber.

One a different note, this week I watched a 1970s TV documentary about the first English chapter of the Hell's Angels that I was pointed to via Twitter.  It was interesting, in a weird "Withnail and I" way, and the voice-over commentary made it sound like an old Monty Python sketch.  One of the gang had wildly crossed eyes, the result, the commentator explained neutrally, of having "both his eyes knocked out of their sockets in a fight."

The thing that struck me the most, apart from the lack of traffic on the streets, was how young they all looked.  I assume that's because I am getting old.















*She's dead of course.

Debut

I did it. Last night I played a song on my guitar in public, with a proper band. And it was bloody excellent fun.

I didn't forget where I had to come in at the beginning, or where I had to shut up in the middle 8, or when I had to start up again for the big finish. I got all the chords right. I even managed to sing along and remember all the words.

Maybe if I get to do it again I'll have a mic as well as an amp.

The event they were playing at was in the local pub, in aid of Help for Heroes and the NABD , and apparently raised over £300.

My Youngest Sis, her boyfriend and my Eldest Niece were all there too which was lovely. Apparently (and she'll kill me for this), Youngest Sis got all teary-eyed and emotional.

I assume with pride, rather than at my playing.

We had a fantastic success rate on the raffle there too. I am now the proud owner of a funky new crash helmet*, and Mr WithaY has been given a splendid new bike jacket which Youngest Sis won. Not bad for 4 quid's worth of raffle tickets.

I actually won two prizes but decide to keep quiet and not go up to claim the second one as I already had what I thought was the top prize.

I am so going straight to Heaven.

There were some right scary looking "too cool for school" biker types there, which was entertaining. There was also a good sprinkling of mates from the village, so it felt like a friendly crowd all night.

I think the cider might have helped me with my "everyone is lovely and friendly" outlook, in retrospect.

Anyway, Eldest Niece is here to stay for the week, we are going to take a few day trips out and about. Planning to go to Bath tomorrow, so I am hoping it stops raining, or we'll have to spend the whole day in shops. Nightmare.

I think we might be buying some hair straighteners.

I have never straightened my hair, so if it looks especially fantastic I might take a picture. Also, if I set it alight and have to have my head shaved, I will let you know.



*Now I have to get another bike, really.

On a break

I don't know if I am coming or going at the moment. Work is really, really busy. I mean, I am still doing a kind of nine to five thing, but while I am there I am up to my ears.

Anyone would think that's what they pay me for. Tch.

So, by way of making sure I get a short break, I have plugged myself into my iPod* and am doing my blog.

One advantage of the "desk, team and phone in different ends of the building" fiasco is that I am walking around a lot more. Can't be bad. I haven't been to the gym for at least a month, so any exercise is better than nothing. Even clutching at straws must burn a few calories.

At least I have been in the office all week, which makes life easier. Apart from Monday, when I was in Bristol. Mind you, with all the scaremongering stories about fuel going up to £2.30 a litre, maybe I'll resign because I won't be able to afford the 70 miles a day driving here and back.

Or, less drama-queenishly, perhaps Mr WithaY and I can carshare more.

Although I prefer the sound of the "not having to go to work any more" option, to be honest.

Had a fab guitar lesson last night. We are off to a party** later in the month and I have been asked to bring my guitar, so we were going through various songs which might be suitable for a lovely summer party. My teacher suggested that REM's "Everybody Hurts" might not be a party song. We'll see.

I did a version of The Boxtop's "The Letter" which, although I say so myself, I sang the shit out of. If I could just remember the chords, it would be perfect.

Also. Have been invited to join the band for a few songs when they do a show in August, which I am very much looking forward to. My enthusiasm took a slight dip when my guitar teacher told me that the last time they did a similar show, the Windsor Hell's Angels turned up. So that could be interesting.

Back in the day, there were a few scary close encounters with various bike gangs, although I don't think I ever met a fully-fledged Angel. Apart from one, who became a very dear friend, and he'd been one back in the 1960s and 70s, so I think was more or less retired. If they can retire. I have no idea.

Anyhoo. The dress code on the ticket for the event says "Leather". I sold my leathers when we sold the bike. I might wear a pink fluffy cardigan and pearls, see what happens.

Right. Time to do all my expenses claims. Work must owe me about a million pounds by now.


*Which I like because I can pretend to be a cyborg.

**Hello Lynn.

Bikers

Almost forgot....I was reading the BBC story about the shooting of the Hell's Angel on the motorway at the weekend.

At the end of the story they have their little comments form, with a header saying

"Are you involved in biker clubs? What are your experiences of them? Send us your thoughts using the form below."

I love the idea that:

a) Hell's Angels would read the BBC webpage (no reason why they shouldn't, I just find it incongruous for some reason)

b) that someone would write in saying something like "I used to be in an outlaw back patch bike gang but left after they discovered I'd stolen all their money, shagged the road captain's girlfriend and ran over the club cat. I am now living under an assumed name in Belgium. If any of the guys from the old days want to get back in touch, I'd love to hear from them, especially Knuckles and Mad Damo."

I remember when the Bulldog Bash started. Loads of my mates used to go along, that and the Kent Custom Show. Aaah, those were the days.

One year there was a huge explosion when a gas cooker/chip fryer/gas cylinder blew up inside a tent/van/converted bus....the details are hazy 20 years on. Anyway, it was the talk of the town for a while.