Plumb crazy

We've had the plumber round. 

The WithaY bathroom is was a thing of beauty.  Spacious, well-lit, an excellent shower, a large, deep bathtub.  We even have a view of the woods, and the meadow, and the river.  Lovely. 

It's worked well for about 6 years or so, give or take the odd slight leak.  Right up until earlier this year, in fact, when the door to the shower cubicle started to stick as it was slid shut.  Of course, you have to close it all the way or when you turn the shower on, water will piss all over the floor and eventually bring down the kitchen ceiling in a rain of dirty water, limestone floortiles, plasterboard and dodgy crud crammed between the joists.  So, something to be rectified.

Before we went on holiday I rang the plumber to see if he could come over and take a look. He's very good, our plumber.  Thorough.  Yes, that's the word. 

One way and another we didn't manage to find a mutually-convenient date for the new shower cubicle to be fitted until after we came home.  Oh, and while he was here, I thought I'd get the bath taps repaired, as one of them has been a bit dodgy for ages.  Kill two birds with one stone, that kind of thing.

The plumber came.  He looked at the shower and told me it was a standard size, but an unusual shape.  He looked at the bath taps and told me that they were an unusual size and an unusual shape.  He looked at the tiles on the walls and told me they were an unusual shape.

I have a freakily unusual bathroom, it seems.

The nice, thorough, plumber told me that he could order in all the parts (taps, shower cubicle, fittings etc) and get the job done over a couple of days.  As I am still off work* as I still can't drive**, this week seemed the ideal opportunity. 

It all started in earnest yesterday.  At 0800.  Eight AM.  In the morning.  I was already up and showered and hair-washed as I guessed that the shower would probably be out of action overnight, and I greeted him with a cup of tea and a cheery smile.  He scampered upstairs, strewing dustsheets in his wake and got right down to business. 

There was a good deal of crashing.

After a while I stuck my head round the door, and almost screamed in horror.  My beautifully-tiled shower had several tiles missing from one corner.  Not part of the original plan.  The plumber said "Don't look at it!" and ushered me out.  I asked why the tiles were missing.  He said that they'd come off the wall when he took the shower cubicle off, because they hadn't been stuck on properly. 

Now, we had already had long complicated discussions about the tiles.  I love those tiles.  They are one of the things I really like about the bathroom.  We don't have any spare ones, and I had resigned myself to the fact that the tiles around the bath would have to be replaced, probably with something different.  The original tiles were too hard to track down, what with their freaky shape*** and all.

So the fact that four of them had been removed from one corner of the shower was a bit of a fucking problem, really. 

I went and made a cup of tea, genuinely upset by this turn of events.  Yes, I know, I'm a contender for one of Belgian Waffle's First World Problems posts. 

The plumber said he would carefully chisel off the tiles around the bath and we'd be able to use some of those for the shower.  He was careful, but I think using a chisel is not always the best idea on a plasterboard wall.

Even if it's got tiles on it.

Additional ventilation?  Extra storage for bath necessities? Somewhere to post a letter from the bank you don't want to read?  Suggestions appreciated.

Things got really interesting after that.  As he removed the bath taps, artfully positioned and a work of glorious modern gleaming chrome, he announced that they had originally been plumbed right into the wall, then cemented over.  He was going to have to change that, in case we ever had a problem.

So.

We can't use the shower.  We can't use the bath.  I may have to wash my hair in the toilet. 

On the bright side, he went to a specialist tile shop, showed them one of the now-useless tiles from the shower and they told him they could order some in, even though they are a freaky shape, a non-standard size and have been discontinued.  We had high hopes for this afternoon, but nothing had arrived by 6pm.  Fingers crossed for tomorrow, eh?

If anyone wants me, I shall be in the garden, washing my feet in the birdbath.

*Starting back on Monday in London, working at home tomorrow and Friday, hurrah!

**The ankle.  Remember? Yeah you do.  Possibly fractured, possibly not, still swollen and revolting to look at., thanks for asking.

***Rectangular.  I know!  Crazy!

Changes

Good news at last.

My lovely Mum has been allowed home from hospital, and as you can imagine, we are all delighted by that. Spoke to her this morning and she is very happy to be back in her own bed again, after almost a month in hosital. Youngest Sis is doing a sterling job managing things down there; Mr WithaY and I are going down tomorrow to see how everyone is doing.

Mr WithaY is now home safe and sound after two weeks in deepest West Wales, and is currently asleep, having had lots of late nights. I am going to go and make some scones and a cup of tea for when he wakes up.

It's nice to have him back, it felt like a very long two weeks.

Other news: While I was staying at Bestest Mate's house last weekend I almost died of fright. Was fast asleep*, dreaming peaceful sweet dreams** when I suddenly woke up, having heard someone wandering about. Because of the deep, deep sleep***, and having spent so many night at various other people's houses lately, I was a bit disorientated, and so thought I was at home.

Hearing someone wandering about, I panicked wildly, thinking that my house had been broken into, and that I was going to have to get up and confront a burglar. It only occurred to me in the morning that I had immediately planned for confrontation, rather than hiding under the duvet till it all went quiet again.

Anyhoo, it took me quite a long time to remember that I was in fact in someone else's house, and they were perfectly entitled to be wandering around it while I was sleeping. It took an even longer time to calm down enough to get back to sleep again. Gah.

Adrenaline and alcohol. What a crap combination that is for a soporific.

Right, scone time. Like Hammer Time but with more flour. And less dancing.




*pissed after quite a lot of wine
**grunting and snorting like a wildebeest at a waterhole
***booze-induced coma

Crossed wires

The phone rang earlier this morning. I scampered* to answer it, thinking it might be work.

It was Mr WithaY.

"Gosh! Hello!" I cried, delighted to hear his voice. "How are you? Where are you?" I expected him to say "Houston"...or maybe even "California".

"Heathrow airport" he replied, rather tetchily.

"Already? But you're not due there till Sunday! I'm coming to pick you up!"

Ahahahahahahaaaaaaaaaaaaaa but no.

What was written in my diary, which I had been working to, was complete bollocks. He landed at Heathrow this morning, and I wasn't there to bring him home. I must be eligible for some sort of Crap Wife Award, surely?

Fortunately, one of the other divers lives a few miles away and very kindly gave Mr WithaY (and all his dive kit) a lift home. Otherwise he'd have had a dull couple of hours while I drove up there to fetch him.

Anyway, he's home safe and sound, and is currently sleeping off his jetlag. In fact, it's time I took him a cup of tea and woke him up.

I'm glad he's back.





*Limped. My knees are a mess.

Back

Safe and sound.

Been to Stonehenge today on the way back from Mum's. Bloody great. Took loads of pictures.

Off to Longleat this afternoon to see the animals. I may take my shotgun in case any of the fucking chimps try anything untoward with my car.

Heh.

Home. Bloody great.