Cubist
Member
- Messages
- 2,503
- Location
- Shropshire/Herefordshire Border
The last few months seem to have flown by and, as a consequence, my contributions to this forum have been equally fleeting. That said though, and setting aside the on-going tragedy in Ukraine and the seemingly endless debacle/buffoonery in Westminster, the swift passage of time, for me, results from a series of both welcome and unwelcome events nearer to home.
In very early February a new grand-daughter, a first/last(?) child for my daughter who is herself an only child, arrived with all the expected fanfare and also, sadly, a little drama. But all’s well that ends well I’m pleased to report and all concerned are doing well – however, we are keeping a weather eye open for any opening salvos in the almost inevitable Granny Wars.
So, done with the welcome stuff, on with the unwelcome.
Some readers will recall that in the run up to Christmas last I found myself having to replace our hot water cylinder and shared a rather lengthy tale of that misadventure with the members here. If you recall, I was very impressed by the athletics of the chap who delivered the replacement cylinder and discovered afterwards that he was/is a competitor in those rather odd ‘Iron Man’ endurance challenges. Little did I know at the time that I would soon be participating in a less strenuous, but maybe as stressful, series of events that would challenge my own resilience - and certainly my temper.
After visiting with family over the Xmas break we were disappointed to find that sneak thieves had paid a visit in our absence. As there was no evidence of forced entry to the main house, and nothing seemed to have been disturbed, it took a day or so for me to notice that something was missing and had probably been purloined by opportunistic villains – odd how sometimes the absence of objects that have a large physical presence, such as an old copper hot water cylinder, can become unnoticeable. This though, was merely the tip of a small iceberg insofar that my further investigations revealed, of all things, an odd draft in my principal shed. This proved to emanate from an absent pane of glass from the window frame, later discovered to have been carefully and safely propped against the rear wall, and lead, after a moments perusal to the realisation that other, to me, valuable equipment had also vanished.
Whilst the First Lady was still bemoaning the loss of the opportunity posed by the departure of ‘my’
project to create an up-cycled chimnea, or some such, from the old water cylinder I set to work cataloguing the now absent kit for my report to the police and the claim to our insurers. During this I, on the other hand, was mourning the loss of my chainsaw, with which I had recently repeated my much earlier threats to the procreative functions of my son-in-law, and the most frequently used piece of artisanal kit exclusively employed in my landscape gardening efforts – my brushcutter. All the time plotting dire vengeance on the perpetrators of this affront and, of course - after the horse had already bolted - enhancing shed security. Wisely, the light-fingered mob, which surely consisted of at least one adolescent scrote, given the ability to scramble through a 50cm square window frame, made no approach to the house. I say wisely, because out here in the sticks most residents will greet unwanted visitors with the business end of a Browning - side by side or over and under.
But this was just the beginning of a series of unfortunate events that have troubled us since and which give some truth to the old adage that bad news usually comes in threes.
Having got over the trauma of dealing with our insurers claims department I happened, in one of those peaceful resting moments that can be all too uncommon around here, to hear the small but decidedly suspicious sound of a watery drip onto old woodwork. There being only a couple of locations where such could reasonably occur, the ensuing investigation was brief and rendered what I and others may consider to have been an entirely predictable culprit – a leak from the cold-water entry port of the new hot water cylinder I had installed just a few weeks before.
As you may imagine this discovery was more than a trifle galling, as I take some small pride in being both a perfectionist and also my typical rating on the DIY competence spectrum, and felt sure that I had properly cinched up the relevant nut after first applying a generous coat of sealant to the pipe and compression olive. However, acknowledging – very reluctantly – the First Ladies observation that I may have overlooked this necessary step, I retrieved a suitably sized wrench from my pillaged shed and set about tightening said nut.
This, given the location of the target nut at the bottom rear of the cylinder and the cramped conditions afforded by the airing cupboard in which the cylinder was/is located, posed some challenges for both my ingenuity – to get the wrench engaged with the nut and allow the application of suitable leverage - and my powers of contortion to get into a position where I could apply such leverage whilst avoiding the seemingly inevitable hernia.
After a suitable period of cursing and having avoided a claim on my health insurance but sadly not the disparaging remarks muttered in the background, job done – I thought. Famous last and all that but the next morning the leak had become less a drip than a disconcerting flow so…..
Shut down and drain the central heating, turn off the water supply, drain the cylinder and prep to remove the darn thing after reporting the obviously faulty cylinder to Screwfix. Pleasingly they were very good and arranged a replacement within 24 hours – fantastic! By the next day, and with the kind of ease that can sometimes only arise after much practice, the now defunct cylinder was out and waiting when the new one arrived. With no alterations needed to the pipe-work this was quickly installed and hot water and central heating services were rapidly resumed.
Clean up, sit down, feet up and assume that self-satisfied glow that only comes from yet another onerous task well and truly done and dusted. Oh, and call the First Lady to tell her she could check out of that Spa Hotel!
A few weeks later I happened to be passing through the hall situated beneath the airing cupboard when I noticed an ominous damp patch on the exposed rough stone chimney breast beside and below it. Rapid investigation revealed that the new cylinder had burst at one of the seams and water was now escaping from behind the foam insulation.
Appalled that a second cylinder from the same maker had failed so soon? Yes. Disappointed and chagrined? Yes, very!
And not least because my prowess as a spanner wrangler was being bitterly disputed by the First Lady who at the time was in dire need of a target for the spleen venting she felt entitled to by the prospect of yet another few days sans central heating and hot water. Faced with the prospect of being abandoned, again, to my own devices while she absented herself to some costly hostelry and … after shutting down the water supply and starting the draining process for the central heating and hot water cylinder, again….. and, having contemplated the choice words to use in what I felt may be a difficult conversation with an automated help desk, I called Screwfix to complain.
Only to be thoroughly disarmed by a lady who, I felt, thoroughly sympathised and immediately checked local stocks to see if they could provide an equally immediate replacement. Ready for this possibility I was on the point of declining the offer, as by now my confidence in the manufacturers products was justifiably very low and I was intent on demanding replacement from an alternative manufacturer, when she advised…. ‘that sadly they had no available stock from the original maker nor had they any compatible replacement from an alternate manufacturer…however, if I would return the old cylinder then Screwfix would make a full refund and look favourably on any claim I may make for additional expenditure incurred to make good any damage and to install a new cylinder from elsewhere’.
Having girded my loins for battle with an obstinate customer care team that was insisting that a second failure of a respected supplier’s products in such a brief period was highly unlikely, and truth be told that thought had crossed my mind too, so I had, before calling, conducted tests on the thermostat and heater element to prove their function and satisfy myself that I had not inadvertently blown the darn thing up by super-heating the water. There have been very, very few occasions in my life when a decidedly positive outcome from such dealings is anything less than a delight but…. I do enjoy the occasional joust with entrenched opinion and to have the wind so effectively removed from my sails left me with an acute sense of loss that even the small satisfaction of a grumble was to be denied me – harrumph!
Ah well, onward and upward as the say and with quiet descending, the First Lady now ensconced in The Pig near her parent’s place, I was now free, metaphorically, to just ‘get on with it’.
So…. Disconnect the power supply and pipework, drain the last stubborn dregs from the bottom of the now dud cylinder and out it goes. Clearly practice has its advantages as these steps went ‘swimmingly’ if you’ll pardon the pun and I was grateful as I knew the new cylinder, hastily purchased from Travis Perkins, would bring its own challenges to the enterprise. The next morning the new cylinder was promptly delivered and inspection soon confirmed that its advertised specification was correct – for some reason I’ve become untrusting of such information – and, Yes, it’s of the same capacity, Yes, the positions of water entry and exit ports do conform to standard but…. there has to be a fly in the ointment doesn’t there.
Sure enough, and as per spec, the main water entry/exit ports were 28mm diameter rather than 22mm as used before. Also, while the new cylinder has the same capacity as the old one its outer dimensions are different, notably in its girth and overall height so some extra work there too. Not huge problems you may think, a new section of pipe and a couple of reducers should do the trick until - the penny drops with a dull copper clang - the confined dimensions of the airing cupboard and the obviously far from vertical rear wall will produce a shift at the foot of the cylinder that may make it nigh on impossible for it to marry up with the central heating feed and return pipes! After considering the options of how best to proceed, over a good mug of English Breakfast, I decided on a ‘Suck it and See’ strategy as commended by my father when faced with similar dilemmas and just got on with it.
New 28mm pipes made up, 28>22 reducers firmly soldered in place and all tested where possible and compression connectors ready for installation where prudent to support final fit. Lift the whole shebang up to blindly navigate it though the cupboard door and over the other pipework and…… with a little ‘jiggling about’ it’s in and the fears concerning the central heating connections, subject to some minor alterations, full allayed – isn’t it amazing how a little ‘jiggling about’ can be so satisfying? Anyway, open the valves, fill the cylinder and central heating system, monitoring for leaks all the while, bleed the radiators, eliminate the inevitable air locks and after a few simple modifications to the cupboard shelving we’re back to status quo. Time to call the First Lady and sit down outside in the sunshine to enjoy a nice glass, or two as I recall, of Malbec.
Now, I know that all these shenanigans have had a less than welcome effect on the First Lady, despite her increasingly frequent sojourns in up-market spa hotels – I think she’s bought a season ticket for the Pig chain – and I am beginning to think that there is a conspiracy of some sort going on to get her ‘Frequent Visitor’ privileges. That, or I have mightily offended Neptune, Poseidon or some other water deity because……
About a week ago, and as the weather outside was a little grim, I elected to take that first blessed cuppa at the kitchen table. While still marvelling at the power of that restorative a spot of liquid on the table came to my attention that could not possibly have arisen from any kind of ‘slip tween cup/mug (bucket according to the First Lady) and lip’. Looking up I spied a new drip forming on the edge of an exposed beam and surrounded by a large damp patch. This was more than just a trifle alarming as directly above is the master bathroom I laboured in about five years ago to meet the exacting requirements of the other half. Those feats of enterprise included: -
• Replacing the rotten/rotting oak floorboards and levelling the floor.
• Moving a stud partition to create a larger footprint bathroom and a small dressing room.
• Constructing a faux granite based walk in shower.
• Installing a new full size bath and other sanitary ware carefully specified by the guvnor.
• Installing exposed copper pipework and rustic fittings throughout
• Revised the electrical wiring and lighting layout and fittings.
• Installing concealed pumps for the shower system.
All of which being designed to permit a cat hurling contest if desired and avoid doing serious harm to my elbows while shaving.
Knowing that all the water pipes, from the bore-hole, internal hot/cold distribution and central heating run in the cavity immediately above my head and beneath the ‘nearly’ new floor and heavy walk in shower filled me with trepidation – the worst part about being an inveterate planner is that worst case scenarios spring effortlessly to mind and the more consideration they are given the more they appear to be probable. Ho-hum!
Discretion, they say, is the better part of valour and so first things first. After a second mug of tea while contemplating what I may have done to offend whomever and menacingly observing the drips from above, my action plan crystallised. Call the Pig and book a room to be available immediately for the First Lady, see if she is back in the land of the living yet and advise that she packs her bag – hopefully for just a couple of days – and wave her off to the spa. Vitally important stuff done, switch my attentions to the less critical matters such as turning off the power to the bore-hole pump and closing the valves for the internal water distribution pipes. Some may say that should have been my first action but…… the prospect of informing a newly wakened First Lady that I’m kicking her out of the house and not letting her bathe before going would have been life threatening – to say the least.
Happy that I was then alone and free to panic in private I set to with preliminary investigations. Thoughts of lifting the bathroom floor-boards bit the dust rapidly when I remembered that they run at 90 degrees to the underfloor pipework and, was something that I desperately wanted to avoid if at all possible. Far better to attack the problem from below. Armed with a suitably sized spade drill bit and my trusty borescope I began carefully, because I did not know precisely where the pipes were, drilling holes in the kitchen ceiling in the hope that the scope would help me identify the location of the leak and avoid the pipes. I soon abandoned this softly-softly approach in favour of getting my hands into the cavity and simply breaking and pulling the soaked plasterboard out as the source of the leak seemed to be some distance from its point of exit. Now, one advantage of an old cottage is its low ceilings and I could quite happily stand on the floor and reach comfortably to the underside of the bathroom floor above. This though can soon become a disadvantage if you, as I, are not quite tall enough to get a ‘close’ look at any given point of interest/concern – the most effective solution for me was length of sturdy timber over a couple of old house-bricks.
Pulling down wet plasterboard and teetering along atop a wobbly plank while looking for the source of what I hoped would prove not to be the Nile, I had exposed an area between the joists that was about four feet long. But with no sign of leak in sight I was beginning to worry as I was rapidly approaching the fridge/freezer housing and the prospect of having to pull that out would have had me calling the Pig to extend the First Lady’s stay or perhaps join her. Now, advancing years have had their impact and my sight is not as keen as it used to be so I was rather pleased, oddly, that natures vicissitudes has also increased my sensitivity to cold because as I extended the cavity I happened to feel a cold wet drip on the back of my hand. On go the reading glasses and getting up as close and personal as I can in the circumstances I can now see a drip forming on one of the water distribution pipes. Eureka, got it, and before the fridge/freezer too, but only just. Clearing up the mess to make some space allowed me to ponder the newly found source of my troubles and begin consideration of the solution. Recalling that the pipe in question was a main artery in the hot supply to the bathroom and kitchen I was exceptionally pleased that there seemed to be room to be able to make repairs from below and without further demolition work – phew and wipe beads of sweat from brow.
Spare pipe and fittings, my available collection of such could rival some professional plumbers these days, - together with pipe-cutter and other bits and pieces retrieved from my plundered shed in hand I return to the fray. As I was preparing to fit the pipe cutter my focus must have wandered ever so slightly and I noticed what at first I thought to be a strand of spider’s cobweb. Without thinking I tried to brush it away only to find it was a very fine jet of water coming from a different pipe to the one I intended to cut and the jet was hitting the pipe on which I had seen the drips forming. A near miss, some wasted effort and materials avoided, but a new problem too. The newly discovered failed pipe was/is the primary cold water feed from the bore-hole and as such would have a ‘head of water’ trapped in it between the loft tanks and the ground floor. Faint heart and fair lady in mind and equipped with a bucket and an old towel or two I cut the pipe to get my early shower.
Deciding that where there’s one pin-hole leak there’s room for another to appear I replaced a much larger segment of the pipe than was probably necessary – but hey, what am I going to do with what I hadn’t already used? A couple of hours after that some unused plasterboard, saved from the original bathroom modernisation project, had been used to close the ceiling and as I write, now that everything has dried out satisfactorily, all I need to do is give it a skim of plaster to hide my handiwork.
Then, assuming I’ve done enough to appease the water deities, I can get on with something more interesting or maybe even put my feet up or write this tale of woe.
Oh, and before I forget, after satisfying myself that I had stopped the leak and got the house back in some order I did call the First Lady to let her know she could return home. Citing reasons of considerably greater confidence in The Pigs hot water supply than our own, she stayed on for another couple of days!
And then some people wonder at my proclivity for saving unused and probably unwanted materials for some maybe event in the future – all my projects seem to come with a Spa Hotel surcharge levied before I even begin prepping the budget. :shock:
In very early February a new grand-daughter, a first/last(?) child for my daughter who is herself an only child, arrived with all the expected fanfare and also, sadly, a little drama. But all’s well that ends well I’m pleased to report and all concerned are doing well – however, we are keeping a weather eye open for any opening salvos in the almost inevitable Granny Wars.
So, done with the welcome stuff, on with the unwelcome.
Some readers will recall that in the run up to Christmas last I found myself having to replace our hot water cylinder and shared a rather lengthy tale of that misadventure with the members here. If you recall, I was very impressed by the athletics of the chap who delivered the replacement cylinder and discovered afterwards that he was/is a competitor in those rather odd ‘Iron Man’ endurance challenges. Little did I know at the time that I would soon be participating in a less strenuous, but maybe as stressful, series of events that would challenge my own resilience - and certainly my temper.
After visiting with family over the Xmas break we were disappointed to find that sneak thieves had paid a visit in our absence. As there was no evidence of forced entry to the main house, and nothing seemed to have been disturbed, it took a day or so for me to notice that something was missing and had probably been purloined by opportunistic villains – odd how sometimes the absence of objects that have a large physical presence, such as an old copper hot water cylinder, can become unnoticeable. This though, was merely the tip of a small iceberg insofar that my further investigations revealed, of all things, an odd draft in my principal shed. This proved to emanate from an absent pane of glass from the window frame, later discovered to have been carefully and safely propped against the rear wall, and lead, after a moments perusal to the realisation that other, to me, valuable equipment had also vanished.
Whilst the First Lady was still bemoaning the loss of the opportunity posed by the departure of ‘my’
project to create an up-cycled chimnea, or some such, from the old water cylinder I set to work cataloguing the now absent kit for my report to the police and the claim to our insurers. During this I, on the other hand, was mourning the loss of my chainsaw, with which I had recently repeated my much earlier threats to the procreative functions of my son-in-law, and the most frequently used piece of artisanal kit exclusively employed in my landscape gardening efforts – my brushcutter. All the time plotting dire vengeance on the perpetrators of this affront and, of course - after the horse had already bolted - enhancing shed security. Wisely, the light-fingered mob, which surely consisted of at least one adolescent scrote, given the ability to scramble through a 50cm square window frame, made no approach to the house. I say wisely, because out here in the sticks most residents will greet unwanted visitors with the business end of a Browning - side by side or over and under.But this was just the beginning of a series of unfortunate events that have troubled us since and which give some truth to the old adage that bad news usually comes in threes.
Having got over the trauma of dealing with our insurers claims department I happened, in one of those peaceful resting moments that can be all too uncommon around here, to hear the small but decidedly suspicious sound of a watery drip onto old woodwork. There being only a couple of locations where such could reasonably occur, the ensuing investigation was brief and rendered what I and others may consider to have been an entirely predictable culprit – a leak from the cold-water entry port of the new hot water cylinder I had installed just a few weeks before.
As you may imagine this discovery was more than a trifle galling, as I take some small pride in being both a perfectionist and also my typical rating on the DIY competence spectrum, and felt sure that I had properly cinched up the relevant nut after first applying a generous coat of sealant to the pipe and compression olive. However, acknowledging – very reluctantly – the First Ladies observation that I may have overlooked this necessary step, I retrieved a suitably sized wrench from my pillaged shed and set about tightening said nut.
This, given the location of the target nut at the bottom rear of the cylinder and the cramped conditions afforded by the airing cupboard in which the cylinder was/is located, posed some challenges for both my ingenuity – to get the wrench engaged with the nut and allow the application of suitable leverage - and my powers of contortion to get into a position where I could apply such leverage whilst avoiding the seemingly inevitable hernia.
After a suitable period of cursing and having avoided a claim on my health insurance but sadly not the disparaging remarks muttered in the background, job done – I thought. Famous last and all that but the next morning the leak had become less a drip than a disconcerting flow so…..
Shut down and drain the central heating, turn off the water supply, drain the cylinder and prep to remove the darn thing after reporting the obviously faulty cylinder to Screwfix. Pleasingly they were very good and arranged a replacement within 24 hours – fantastic! By the next day, and with the kind of ease that can sometimes only arise after much practice, the now defunct cylinder was out and waiting when the new one arrived. With no alterations needed to the pipe-work this was quickly installed and hot water and central heating services were rapidly resumed.
Clean up, sit down, feet up and assume that self-satisfied glow that only comes from yet another onerous task well and truly done and dusted. Oh, and call the First Lady to tell her she could check out of that Spa Hotel!
A few weeks later I happened to be passing through the hall situated beneath the airing cupboard when I noticed an ominous damp patch on the exposed rough stone chimney breast beside and below it. Rapid investigation revealed that the new cylinder had burst at one of the seams and water was now escaping from behind the foam insulation.
Appalled that a second cylinder from the same maker had failed so soon? Yes. Disappointed and chagrined? Yes, very!
And not least because my prowess as a spanner wrangler was being bitterly disputed by the First Lady who at the time was in dire need of a target for the spleen venting she felt entitled to by the prospect of yet another few days sans central heating and hot water. Faced with the prospect of being abandoned, again, to my own devices while she absented herself to some costly hostelry and … after shutting down the water supply and starting the draining process for the central heating and hot water cylinder, again….. and, having contemplated the choice words to use in what I felt may be a difficult conversation with an automated help desk, I called Screwfix to complain.
Only to be thoroughly disarmed by a lady who, I felt, thoroughly sympathised and immediately checked local stocks to see if they could provide an equally immediate replacement. Ready for this possibility I was on the point of declining the offer, as by now my confidence in the manufacturers products was justifiably very low and I was intent on demanding replacement from an alternative manufacturer, when she advised…. ‘that sadly they had no available stock from the original maker nor had they any compatible replacement from an alternate manufacturer…however, if I would return the old cylinder then Screwfix would make a full refund and look favourably on any claim I may make for additional expenditure incurred to make good any damage and to install a new cylinder from elsewhere’.
Having girded my loins for battle with an obstinate customer care team that was insisting that a second failure of a respected supplier’s products in such a brief period was highly unlikely, and truth be told that thought had crossed my mind too, so I had, before calling, conducted tests on the thermostat and heater element to prove their function and satisfy myself that I had not inadvertently blown the darn thing up by super-heating the water. There have been very, very few occasions in my life when a decidedly positive outcome from such dealings is anything less than a delight but…. I do enjoy the occasional joust with entrenched opinion and to have the wind so effectively removed from my sails left me with an acute sense of loss that even the small satisfaction of a grumble was to be denied me – harrumph!
Ah well, onward and upward as the say and with quiet descending, the First Lady now ensconced in The Pig near her parent’s place, I was now free, metaphorically, to just ‘get on with it’.
So…. Disconnect the power supply and pipework, drain the last stubborn dregs from the bottom of the now dud cylinder and out it goes. Clearly practice has its advantages as these steps went ‘swimmingly’ if you’ll pardon the pun and I was grateful as I knew the new cylinder, hastily purchased from Travis Perkins, would bring its own challenges to the enterprise. The next morning the new cylinder was promptly delivered and inspection soon confirmed that its advertised specification was correct – for some reason I’ve become untrusting of such information – and, Yes, it’s of the same capacity, Yes, the positions of water entry and exit ports do conform to standard but…. there has to be a fly in the ointment doesn’t there.
Sure enough, and as per spec, the main water entry/exit ports were 28mm diameter rather than 22mm as used before. Also, while the new cylinder has the same capacity as the old one its outer dimensions are different, notably in its girth and overall height so some extra work there too. Not huge problems you may think, a new section of pipe and a couple of reducers should do the trick until - the penny drops with a dull copper clang - the confined dimensions of the airing cupboard and the obviously far from vertical rear wall will produce a shift at the foot of the cylinder that may make it nigh on impossible for it to marry up with the central heating feed and return pipes! After considering the options of how best to proceed, over a good mug of English Breakfast, I decided on a ‘Suck it and See’ strategy as commended by my father when faced with similar dilemmas and just got on with it.
New 28mm pipes made up, 28>22 reducers firmly soldered in place and all tested where possible and compression connectors ready for installation where prudent to support final fit. Lift the whole shebang up to blindly navigate it though the cupboard door and over the other pipework and…… with a little ‘jiggling about’ it’s in and the fears concerning the central heating connections, subject to some minor alterations, full allayed – isn’t it amazing how a little ‘jiggling about’ can be so satisfying? Anyway, open the valves, fill the cylinder and central heating system, monitoring for leaks all the while, bleed the radiators, eliminate the inevitable air locks and after a few simple modifications to the cupboard shelving we’re back to status quo. Time to call the First Lady and sit down outside in the sunshine to enjoy a nice glass, or two as I recall, of Malbec.
Now, I know that all these shenanigans have had a less than welcome effect on the First Lady, despite her increasingly frequent sojourns in up-market spa hotels – I think she’s bought a season ticket for the Pig chain – and I am beginning to think that there is a conspiracy of some sort going on to get her ‘Frequent Visitor’ privileges. That, or I have mightily offended Neptune, Poseidon or some other water deity because……
About a week ago, and as the weather outside was a little grim, I elected to take that first blessed cuppa at the kitchen table. While still marvelling at the power of that restorative a spot of liquid on the table came to my attention that could not possibly have arisen from any kind of ‘slip tween cup/mug (bucket according to the First Lady) and lip’. Looking up I spied a new drip forming on the edge of an exposed beam and surrounded by a large damp patch. This was more than just a trifle alarming as directly above is the master bathroom I laboured in about five years ago to meet the exacting requirements of the other half. Those feats of enterprise included: -
• Replacing the rotten/rotting oak floorboards and levelling the floor.
• Moving a stud partition to create a larger footprint bathroom and a small dressing room.
• Constructing a faux granite based walk in shower.
• Installing a new full size bath and other sanitary ware carefully specified by the guvnor.
• Installing exposed copper pipework and rustic fittings throughout
• Revised the electrical wiring and lighting layout and fittings.
• Installing concealed pumps for the shower system.
All of which being designed to permit a cat hurling contest if desired and avoid doing serious harm to my elbows while shaving.
Knowing that all the water pipes, from the bore-hole, internal hot/cold distribution and central heating run in the cavity immediately above my head and beneath the ‘nearly’ new floor and heavy walk in shower filled me with trepidation – the worst part about being an inveterate planner is that worst case scenarios spring effortlessly to mind and the more consideration they are given the more they appear to be probable. Ho-hum!
Discretion, they say, is the better part of valour and so first things first. After a second mug of tea while contemplating what I may have done to offend whomever and menacingly observing the drips from above, my action plan crystallised. Call the Pig and book a room to be available immediately for the First Lady, see if she is back in the land of the living yet and advise that she packs her bag – hopefully for just a couple of days – and wave her off to the spa. Vitally important stuff done, switch my attentions to the less critical matters such as turning off the power to the bore-hole pump and closing the valves for the internal water distribution pipes. Some may say that should have been my first action but…… the prospect of informing a newly wakened First Lady that I’m kicking her out of the house and not letting her bathe before going would have been life threatening – to say the least.
Happy that I was then alone and free to panic in private I set to with preliminary investigations. Thoughts of lifting the bathroom floor-boards bit the dust rapidly when I remembered that they run at 90 degrees to the underfloor pipework and, was something that I desperately wanted to avoid if at all possible. Far better to attack the problem from below. Armed with a suitably sized spade drill bit and my trusty borescope I began carefully, because I did not know precisely where the pipes were, drilling holes in the kitchen ceiling in the hope that the scope would help me identify the location of the leak and avoid the pipes. I soon abandoned this softly-softly approach in favour of getting my hands into the cavity and simply breaking and pulling the soaked plasterboard out as the source of the leak seemed to be some distance from its point of exit. Now, one advantage of an old cottage is its low ceilings and I could quite happily stand on the floor and reach comfortably to the underside of the bathroom floor above. This though can soon become a disadvantage if you, as I, are not quite tall enough to get a ‘close’ look at any given point of interest/concern – the most effective solution for me was length of sturdy timber over a couple of old house-bricks.
Pulling down wet plasterboard and teetering along atop a wobbly plank while looking for the source of what I hoped would prove not to be the Nile, I had exposed an area between the joists that was about four feet long. But with no sign of leak in sight I was beginning to worry as I was rapidly approaching the fridge/freezer housing and the prospect of having to pull that out would have had me calling the Pig to extend the First Lady’s stay or perhaps join her. Now, advancing years have had their impact and my sight is not as keen as it used to be so I was rather pleased, oddly, that natures vicissitudes has also increased my sensitivity to cold because as I extended the cavity I happened to feel a cold wet drip on the back of my hand. On go the reading glasses and getting up as close and personal as I can in the circumstances I can now see a drip forming on one of the water distribution pipes. Eureka, got it, and before the fridge/freezer too, but only just. Clearing up the mess to make some space allowed me to ponder the newly found source of my troubles and begin consideration of the solution. Recalling that the pipe in question was a main artery in the hot supply to the bathroom and kitchen I was exceptionally pleased that there seemed to be room to be able to make repairs from below and without further demolition work – phew and wipe beads of sweat from brow.
Spare pipe and fittings, my available collection of such could rival some professional plumbers these days, - together with pipe-cutter and other bits and pieces retrieved from my plundered shed in hand I return to the fray. As I was preparing to fit the pipe cutter my focus must have wandered ever so slightly and I noticed what at first I thought to be a strand of spider’s cobweb. Without thinking I tried to brush it away only to find it was a very fine jet of water coming from a different pipe to the one I intended to cut and the jet was hitting the pipe on which I had seen the drips forming. A near miss, some wasted effort and materials avoided, but a new problem too. The newly discovered failed pipe was/is the primary cold water feed from the bore-hole and as such would have a ‘head of water’ trapped in it between the loft tanks and the ground floor. Faint heart and fair lady in mind and equipped with a bucket and an old towel or two I cut the pipe to get my early shower.
Deciding that where there’s one pin-hole leak there’s room for another to appear I replaced a much larger segment of the pipe than was probably necessary – but hey, what am I going to do with what I hadn’t already used? A couple of hours after that some unused plasterboard, saved from the original bathroom modernisation project, had been used to close the ceiling and as I write, now that everything has dried out satisfactorily, all I need to do is give it a skim of plaster to hide my handiwork.
Then, assuming I’ve done enough to appease the water deities, I can get on with something more interesting or maybe even put my feet up or write this tale of woe.
Oh, and before I forget, after satisfying myself that I had stopped the leak and got the house back in some order I did call the First Lady to let her know she could return home. Citing reasons of considerably greater confidence in The Pigs hot water supply than our own, she stayed on for another couple of days!
And then some people wonder at my proclivity for saving unused and probably unwanted materials for some maybe event in the future – all my projects seem to come with a Spa Hotel surcharge levied before I even begin prepping the budget. :shock:
:lol: