The Cousin and I were standing in the kitchen staring at the mess under the sink. We bore expressions of the damned, damn idiots that is. Yet another attempt to fix the leaking U-bend had ended in unmitigated failure. What started as a barely noticeable trickle of water about three months ago is now the very bane of our existence. We now live the life of our grandparents. Three maybe four times a day we have to empty the bucket under the kitchen sink. A bucket of very dubious delights. And it's not like that goes well every time either. I mean the number of times the greasy lukewarm water has ended up round the back of the toilet and half way up the bathroom wall is beyond silly.
It's oh so grim.
So very very grim.
"What we need is to get it fixed", retorted The Cousin.
His feet, and not for the first time in recent weeks, were soaking wet. A situation which leads to constant sock changing and great unhappiness. I am not a technically gifted person when it comes to such chores. Honestly I had to spellcheck DIY three times just to write this story. But I ventured forth to my local hardware superstore place, having changed out of my nice sweater shirt and trouser combo to a more roguish and manlier t-shirt and combats ensemble, with determination and resolve.
Not sure I totally pulled off the look I was hoping for but I was past caring. I just wanted the fucking u-bend fixed. I would have gone in backless chaps and stetson if that would have got the job done. Needless to say the parts that it took me a half hour to select didn't fit. There is no chance that B & Q will go bankrupt anytime soon with the amount of money I am spending attempting to fix one stupid leak. I think I am personally responsible for keeping ten people in full time employment at the moment. Seriously, I got a thank you card from their kids and all.
In the end I am just going to have to call a man. I am going to have to call a man to come out and fix a stupid leak that a stupid child could fix that I cant. Maybe I should just get a child. I dunno. I just cant take anymore of this 1950's living. There is a constant worry about the bucket breaking whilst on the way to the bathroom to be emptied. If /when this does happen I will burn the house down, that's right, down to the ground.
In many respect our house is a contradiction. By the last count there were four computers, three mobile phones, four televisions and assorted cable boxes and associated dvd and pvr players. There are three dab radios and more remote controls than you can shake a Bang and Olufsen stick at. You can wirelessly stream music round the house at a touch of a perfectly formed Apple button and you can talk to someone in Boise Idaho whilst taking a bath. Not that I've ever done that. In many ways it's awesome, my house that is, not talking to people in Boise Idaho whilst taking a bath. Although I'm sure that is just lovely. But what you cant do is run the water in the kitchen for anything longer than a freaking minute without flooding the place.
It's so utterly depressing.
"So that's more money down the drain", I huffed.
"Or not" replied The Cousin with a cheeky grin.
"Heh, very good."
"Did you see that KFC they are building?", he asked without taking his eyes off the bucket.
"Yeah I passed it on the way home."
"Biggest KFC drive through in Ireland."
"Makes you wanna burn your car eh?", I ventured.
"Makes me wanna burn all cars."
"Yup.", And with that I lifted the bucket, emptied it and went to bed.
1950's living it is then....