A Salutary Lesson
Posted: Sat Mar 22, 2003 3:51 pm
Post Recreated: Originally posted - 15 January 2003
I think that most readers would agree that preparing to go on holiday is normally an exiting time.
However, leaving our good old northern climes in mid January does pose burdens. Who wants to come back to frozen or burst pipes? Do you leave the electricity on or off? What about the heating? Papers and milk? It goes on and on.
Now I openly admit to being one who thought that DIY was an acronym for unmentionable practices. I know nothing about chisels and care even less. Stop cocks and fuse boards are a different world – one that until today I cared nought for.
Jill and I live in a small 16th century converted barn with a modern wing housing the main bedrooms. This wing has its own water supply with a stop-cock located in a built-in wardrobe (don’t ask). The stop cock has always been too stiff to close by hand, so being the lazy sod that I am, I’ve never bothered. Given that we leave home for Tobago in 48 hours, I decided to ‘free’ the stop cock this afternoon. With gentle fingers more used to tapping a keyboard, our hero set to work with something called, I believe, a mole grip (for the life of me I can’t see how it can help me catch those little critters than ruin my lawns and cause me such grief). Now, I may not be a handyman, but equally I am not totally stupid. I did not apply undue force – the grips were simply necessary because the stop cock was only half an inch above the floor and difficult to grab with fingers.
I’m getting there. Don’t hurry me – just building the suspense.
You’ve guessed it. The stop cock broke off in my hands. Now, I thought we suffered from low water pressure. Let me tell you, we don’t. Imagine a jet of water that would have cleared the roof of the barn if the top of the wardrobe hadn’t stopped it. Imagine the spray effect when the water continued to jet against the top of the wardrobe.
No, I didn’t swear. Not a single crude word passed my lips, or even my mind. To be frank, seven hours later it is all a bit of a haze. I do admit, however, that it was one of those very few times in my life when I nearly, very nearly, lost it totally. I really, really, just didn’t know what to do. I knew there must be a master stop-cock in the grounds somewhere, but I had absolutely no idea where I might find it. I had undoubtedly been shown the location when we moved in some years ago, but my creaky old brain box was not being at all helpful.
Well, once the initial panic had subsided, I removed the shoe I was holding over the jet of water, and which reduced the flow from 10 gallons a minute to possibly around 5, and rang my local plumber. Luck was in! He was only three miles away and got to us within 10 minutes. Whilst waiting, I returned to the cupboard and reapplied the shoe (Jill's entire shoe collection was in that cupboard, together with many of her dresses). The water was so cold it was unbelievable. I felt sick to my stomach and very, very sorry for myself.
Well, an hour later the main drama was over and I won’t bore you with the details. Thanks to an old industrial extraction machine, the carpet is now touch-dry. Because we managed to deal with the problem quickly, the damage has been a fraction of what it could otherwise have been.
One thing I forgot to mention - Jill had started her packing for our trip to Tobago this morning. There it all was, neatly laid out on the bed in that bedroom – just three or four feet from the cupboard with the broken water pipe. Thankfully, the cupboard did not face the bed and the spray missed most of the garments – even though the bed itself was standing in an inch or two of water. All I can say is that the damage could have been considerably worse.
We both feel completely racked now – totally drained physically and emotionally. Having done everything that I can, I’ve come over to the office to try and get on with some work. To be honest, I’ve achieved nothing – I simply can’t concentrate. Jotting my thoughts down here seems to be helping – or maybe it’s the beers.
The salutary lesson? Well even if you have absolutely no interest or talent for DIY and similar matters, do not be a plonker like me. Make sure you know where your mains connections are and regularly test stop cocks days before you go on holiday.
Let’s look on the bright side. Instead of happening 48 hour before leaving, this could so easily have happened minutes before we left for the airport. It doesn't bare thinking about. Be warned!
I think that most readers would agree that preparing to go on holiday is normally an exiting time.
However, leaving our good old northern climes in mid January does pose burdens. Who wants to come back to frozen or burst pipes? Do you leave the electricity on or off? What about the heating? Papers and milk? It goes on and on.
Now I openly admit to being one who thought that DIY was an acronym for unmentionable practices. I know nothing about chisels and care even less. Stop cocks and fuse boards are a different world – one that until today I cared nought for.
Jill and I live in a small 16th century converted barn with a modern wing housing the main bedrooms. This wing has its own water supply with a stop-cock located in a built-in wardrobe (don’t ask). The stop cock has always been too stiff to close by hand, so being the lazy sod that I am, I’ve never bothered. Given that we leave home for Tobago in 48 hours, I decided to ‘free’ the stop cock this afternoon. With gentle fingers more used to tapping a keyboard, our hero set to work with something called, I believe, a mole grip (for the life of me I can’t see how it can help me catch those little critters than ruin my lawns and cause me such grief). Now, I may not be a handyman, but equally I am not totally stupid. I did not apply undue force – the grips were simply necessary because the stop cock was only half an inch above the floor and difficult to grab with fingers.
I’m getting there. Don’t hurry me – just building the suspense.
You’ve guessed it. The stop cock broke off in my hands. Now, I thought we suffered from low water pressure. Let me tell you, we don’t. Imagine a jet of water that would have cleared the roof of the barn if the top of the wardrobe hadn’t stopped it. Imagine the spray effect when the water continued to jet against the top of the wardrobe.
No, I didn’t swear. Not a single crude word passed my lips, or even my mind. To be frank, seven hours later it is all a bit of a haze. I do admit, however, that it was one of those very few times in my life when I nearly, very nearly, lost it totally. I really, really, just didn’t know what to do. I knew there must be a master stop-cock in the grounds somewhere, but I had absolutely no idea where I might find it. I had undoubtedly been shown the location when we moved in some years ago, but my creaky old brain box was not being at all helpful.
Well, once the initial panic had subsided, I removed the shoe I was holding over the jet of water, and which reduced the flow from 10 gallons a minute to possibly around 5, and rang my local plumber. Luck was in! He was only three miles away and got to us within 10 minutes. Whilst waiting, I returned to the cupboard and reapplied the shoe (Jill's entire shoe collection was in that cupboard, together with many of her dresses). The water was so cold it was unbelievable. I felt sick to my stomach and very, very sorry for myself.
Well, an hour later the main drama was over and I won’t bore you with the details. Thanks to an old industrial extraction machine, the carpet is now touch-dry. Because we managed to deal with the problem quickly, the damage has been a fraction of what it could otherwise have been.
One thing I forgot to mention - Jill had started her packing for our trip to Tobago this morning. There it all was, neatly laid out on the bed in that bedroom – just three or four feet from the cupboard with the broken water pipe. Thankfully, the cupboard did not face the bed and the spray missed most of the garments – even though the bed itself was standing in an inch or two of water. All I can say is that the damage could have been considerably worse.
We both feel completely racked now – totally drained physically and emotionally. Having done everything that I can, I’ve come over to the office to try and get on with some work. To be honest, I’ve achieved nothing – I simply can’t concentrate. Jotting my thoughts down here seems to be helping – or maybe it’s the beers.
The salutary lesson? Well even if you have absolutely no interest or talent for DIY and similar matters, do not be a plonker like me. Make sure you know where your mains connections are and regularly test stop cocks days before you go on holiday.
Let’s look on the bright side. Instead of happening 48 hour before leaving, this could so easily have happened minutes before we left for the airport. It doesn't bare thinking about. Be warned!