What used to be a shower, now in disarray.
No, the plumbing issues still aren't solved, though I'm happy to report I have a new toilet (a crappy toilet with a flimsy plastic seat) and a new water softener.
But the shower, leaking since February, in case you've just joined us, is still in bits and pieces. The tile was removed, along with the cracked shower tray, and now the tiles are cracked and can't go back in, which was a problem anyway since the new tray is shallower and needed another strip of tile. Since the house was built in the early nineties, finding matching tile is impossible; the best they can hope for is to blend in with the rest. And with the entire bathroom covered in the rust-colored tile, it's turning out to be a big project.
We've resigned ourselves to never using that bathroom again. We've moved most of our stuff into the guest bathroom, and only go in there to brush our teeth, and to marvel at the mess that is British Plumbing.
The room smells like a sewer too, so I really am just as happy to never go in there again.
And there are rumors wafting from across the pond that we may be moving this summer, which, frankly, can't happen too soon. (Although I'm not putting too much stock in them, since those rumors have been squelched before.)
Have you read my book yet? In it I offer some insight into my frame of mind when these maybe-moves occur. The plumbing problems are all part of an effort by the gods to convince me I no longer want to live here, and just when I'm convinced, bam! They pull the rug out from under me and I suddenly find myself facing another few years with British plumbing.
So when I find myself longing for a proper sink, a single handle faucet, and a bathroom that doesn't smell, I remind myself of all the lovely bits of Britain I'd miss. In other words, I just lie back and think of England.
It's just as well I've not had to entertain the repairmen for the last few days. On Sunday I hosted a garden party for a friend who's moving back to the States (where he will no doubt enjoy proper plumbing) and then I faced a deadline—for my next book, coming out (hopefully) in the Autumn.
Oh, and did I mention that the kitchen sink started leaking? I opened the cabinet underneath on Sunday and discovered water pooling inside. We put a bucket underneath the pipes, offered a prayer to the Plumbing Gods, and tightened up a connection. Sorted.
And so I soldier on with a stiff upper lip, holding my nose against the sewer gas.
