For the last two days we have not moved from this abode. K has been housebound. No transport to take her to Day Care though as usual I was reminded that if I could get her there staff were in situ. Hmm. Pity the helicopter’s being serviced isn’t it? So Tuesday I had the pleasure of hearing constant hassle to plod out regardless, call a taxi or sledge down on one of our tea trays into the thick snow for some shopping. When I flatly refused, we had mutterings, grumbles, looks that could kill, and all born by me with a blatant resolve not to give in to the evil looks and curses made under the breath.
During my stay with my son and his family up in Scotland, the sorry saga of the shower was easily forgotten. Of course, it was back to reality on my return on the Wednesday. On the Thursday morning two men arrived at 8.00am, again a plumber and his mate. I showed him the depression in the floor by the door.
“Hmm. Looks like its rotted your floorboards love.” (we all call each other love in Yorkshire!) “We’ll be taking the shower tray up anyway as we need to do the job right, so we’ll see how bad it all is underneath then!”
I’ve only just realised that because I have been so occupied with the tale of my recent visit to Scotland, I have missed telling the sorry debacle that we recently experienced concerning our shower. What a farce that turned out to be! I came very close to losing it completely and it was one of the reasons why I didn’t want to return home from Scotland.
It all began the week I was due to begin my visit to Scotland on the Friday. K and I always shower first thing in the morning and that Wednesday morning was no exception. I showered first and was in the cubicle a little longer than normal as I needed to wash my hair. K followed shortly after. I had just got dressed and done my hair when the bell rang. “Who the heck’s this?” I thought to myself. It turned out to be the guy who lives in the flat below us.