Day 97 (22 June): Eau dear!
After a long walk, a few glasses of wine and a hot bath I retired happily to bed around eleven thirty yesterday evening.
I was woken at twenty past five in the morning by a 'Woof!' from a wet and disgruntled Alfie standing by my bed.
Never the quickest off the mark my first thoughts were:
‘Since when does Alfie shower? followed by 'And why shower at this time?’
It gradually percolated up to brain central that I have not once seen her take a shower in the six years we have been together and that something was quite possibly amiss.
In case it was burglars who had decided to give Alfie a quick beauty treatment as an added bonus I made my way downstairs with the steel baseball bat I keep for these occasions .
Top tip: Do not put on a dressing gown; the mistake of amateurs. Always do this in the nude as the burglar will double-take and hesitate a second when confronted with your delicious nakedness and it does not take that long to swing a bat.
Also, please note while we are here that this blog began with bats and their role in our confinement and as it draws to a close they have paid us another visit. The circle of life.
Back to the plot. I did not need the bat as there were no burglars. On the other hand there was a centimetre of water perfectly evenly spread over the whole ground floor. ‘How does water know how to do that?’ and ‘Isn’t nature wonderful?’ is what I thought. What I said was somewhat pithier.
I made my way to the garage where on opening the door there was a hissing like a python with Tourette's and water gushing from the ceiling.
‘Aha! Sprinkler system!’, I concluded. Followed almost immediately by ‘But I don’t have a sprinkler system!’
This is one of the great things about being a man. We are rational.
It was the main water pipe which had somehow completely separated from the thingamajig where the whatsit comes into the house. Another great thing about being a man; we have a tight grasp on technical stuff.
I turned off the water and did the third thing men are good at. I swore eloquently and profusely and went back to bed.
At seven I got back up and rented an industrial carpet cleaner (memo to self: buy an industrial carpet) to suck up the water. Those things are such fun for seven seconds. I then waited an hour for daughter n° 2 to call round with a friend to help me lift the carpets out onto the lawn to dry in the sun. At this juncture I would share with you a little known factoid. A 10 kilo rug soaked in 30 litres (kilos) of water weighs 197.4 kilos, which serves to underline the importance of feeding one’s daughters well.
It is now just gone six in the evening. The water is back on thanks to Mr. Maigret the plumber; the use of a leak detector must require a leak detective. I am exhausted. There was water in every set of drawers, it found every cardboard box, it got into all the little controls for garage doors and alarms. So many things needing taking to bits, cleaning, drying and reassembling and soooo much mopping. But …..I have not once during the entire day mused on the meaning of life. Days and days of posts consisting of groaning, carping, moaning, fussing and griping and all I really needed to have done was rip out the mains water pipe and go to bed in order to restore both function and purpose.
There is something in that. People who are busy don't have time to become too introspective. But it seems to me that in order to be effective the business has to be imposed and unavoidable. As soon as you have control of the business button you know you can calm things down whenever you want and you become introspective again and gaze so hard at your own belly button you fall into it.
This is why I clearly need a wife. They take the business button, ratchet it up to maximum and hide the damn thing where you can never find it. Where do I sign?
Keep well my lovelies!