I occasionally grumble about Writers Block but today I’m suffering from something at once more down-to-earth – but with its own neurotic spin off.
A blocked loo. Just typing that I feel the shame. Do I need permission to mention such things here I wonder? To be more specific the loo in my ensuite uses a device with the charming name of of a macerator and it’s not working properly.
This word “macerator” has a remarkable effect on plumbers; I spoke to three this morning, all of whom feel ominously silent at its mention and said that wasn’t really their, er, expertise. Leaving me feeling even more of this weird sense of being dirty.
So I found one recommended by the makers of macerators and to be honest, he doesn’t soon overkeen himself. Very quick to tell me his costs, the likely difficulties of repair and anxious questions about access. I fear he’ll arrive tomorrow tut tut at me and say I have to get a builder round to do something to improve his access.
This is the sort of thing that triggers a very dark and pessimistic part of my soul and I’m sitting here imagining a chain of expensive events – broken tiles for which no identical replacements can now be found etc etc – none of which bring me any cheer. I’m only blogging it to see if it makes me feel even a tiny bit better.
