Clean sweep

Not being much of an early riser myself was somewhat irritated by dogs barking in what seemed to be the middle of the night. After much nudging by she who must be obeyed, paddled along to the front door, from which the sounds of shouting were emanating, to see what was wrong.

Lo and behold, there were three johnnies looking very serious, and demanding to know whether I had left the bath tap on, and had my bath overflowed. What a ridiculous idea. Bathing never was my favourite occupation anyway – something sissy about it – but why should I not turn the tap off?

Then the penny dropped. Water was lapping around my feet. The whole house was awash – probably two inches deep. Damned annoying, if you ask me.

I sat down, naturally, to think about what to do next. The damn maid wasn’t coming until after lunch, and it would be a dreadful bore to have to wait so long before mopping up. Quite a conundrum. Then it struck me – never was very bright before my first gin – had better see whether the water was still leaking, and if so where.

With this very thought in mind was relieved when the better half announced that she had found the problem: a leaking pipe in the bathroom. Paddled along to have a look. Bathroom a disaster movie: pipes positively pissing (excuse the lingo) water.

In different circumstances might have stopped to admire the view, as the interior lake was quite fetching, but felt that this would not look good, so decided to pretend to look busy. Find squeegee thingy and start pushing water out through the door. Doesn’t seem to make much difference so give up and start checking the damage to stuff on the floor. Not a pretty sight: carpets, mattresses, that sort of thing. Sodden.

Now here’s the interesting bit. One of the johnnies comes in and asks for something to collect water with – I get him a plastic box, and blow me down if he doesn’t start bailing out the bathroom floor like a demon, and has the bright idea of throwing the water into the bath. Damned clever chappie: could do with more types like that in the British Government. Anyway, before long you could see he had made a difference. Feel pathetically grateful.

Inspiration strikes: must turn off the water. Water pipes always have a valve thingy to turn off, so go outside to try and find it. Turn off several of the things, but water’s still pissing out.

Obviously couldn’t help much, what with the johnnie fellow bailing and missus having taken dogs for a walk, so made a cup of tea, and sat down to consider situation. Had another eureka moment: should call the plumber.

First call unsuccessful: a stream of foul-mouthed invective about being woken up at the crack of dawn. Second go a bit more convincing: told him that Titanic was nearly under water, me with it, and he had better get someone here pronto.

The plumber’s idea of pronto was different than mine – about two hours. But meanwhile he had explained to the johnnies how to turn the water off and the bailing was working well. The place was nearly dry within an hour. Another fellow – day-shift chappie – takes over and finishes off.

Decided, uncharacteristically, to have a bath which would give one time to think about what to do, but was greatly shocked to find no water. Not a drop. They had turned off the whole shebang! Most inconsiderate.

Well, the plumber johnnie came: very calm, he was. Seemed to be totally unperturbed about the fact that we had nearly been drowned in our beds and there had been disastrous damage to property (actually most will dry out apart from a few cardboard boxes – we were damned lucky, but I didn’t want him to know that, if you see what I mean). He just poked around and then, saying he had solved the problem, just left. Man must be a genius: only took him a few minutes. Leak stopped, not a drop of water to be seen.

Always something new out of Africa!