Society Taboos
There is a generally received wisdom that politics and religion are best avoided at the dinner table, not least as they tend to bring out the repetitive bore in most of us. But there is one subject that raises more hackles and overshadows more delicious courses than these two old demons put together, and it can be summed up thus: plumber. Is there a householder in England who does not have a Plumber From Hell story?
Certainly, since embarking on this insane mission to renovate an old house in even older Hastings, I have heard many and experienced several. Just uttering the word ‘plumber’ can turn an otherwise composed person into a frothing lunatic. Plumbing is a secret society. One where leaks are frequent, but nobody knows where they are coming from. I have no idea what it would be like to be a plumber’s wife (rich, I assume), but I do know that you would have experienced more than your fair share of heartache.
They let you down. At the last minute. They never call you back. They promise that they will come and finish the job, but they don’t. Like small toddlers, they get bored easily and are keen to move on to a new toy, leaving yours broken and discarded. When you are finally sobbing down the phone, begging them to come and produce the miracle of heat, they just sigh. They may even be issued a pat answer with their Corgi certificate, which goes: ‘Sure babe. I’ll try but I can’t promise anything this week.’
In an attempt to visually express how cold I was, I once sent a plumber a photo of me wrapped in a duvet. I fear he may have reported me to the police for suggestive behaviour. Certainly it never had the desired effect and I had to eventually start all over with another of his species.
So, in a bid to avoid spending another frozen winter, I decided to eschew any number of friends of friends of friends and get British Gas to install the boiler. It is a myth spread about that British Gas is expensive and not worth it. For the record, he turned up – on time. He installed the whole system in a week, tidied up (tidied up!) and stuck to the quote. It was nothing short of miraculous.
David Ashcroft, the district manager, should be running the country. As it is, he is quietly going about changing lives in East Sussex.
He did leave me with one challenge, to get a plumber to connect a simple pipe to my new gas fire. It has only taken four months, six different plumbers, 14 no-shows and two blank refusals, before finally meeting Paul. He is charming, reliable and inexpensive. Naturally, I want to keep him all to myself.
Next week: Raising the roof.
Certainly, since embarking on this insane mission to renovate an old house in even older Hastings, I have heard many and experienced several. Just uttering the word ‘plumber’ can turn an otherwise composed person into a frothing lunatic. Plumbing is a secret society. One where leaks are frequent, but nobody knows where they are coming from. I have no idea what it would be like to be a plumber’s wife (rich, I assume), but I do know that you would have experienced more than your fair share of heartache.
They let you down. At the last minute. They never call you back. They promise that they will come and finish the job, but they don’t. Like small toddlers, they get bored easily and are keen to move on to a new toy, leaving yours broken and discarded. When you are finally sobbing down the phone, begging them to come and produce the miracle of heat, they just sigh. They may even be issued a pat answer with their Corgi certificate, which goes: ‘Sure babe. I’ll try but I can’t promise anything this week.’
In an attempt to visually express how cold I was, I once sent a plumber a photo of me wrapped in a duvet. I fear he may have reported me to the police for suggestive behaviour. Certainly it never had the desired effect and I had to eventually start all over with another of his species.
So, in a bid to avoid spending another frozen winter, I decided to eschew any number of friends of friends of friends and get British Gas to install the boiler. It is a myth spread about that British Gas is expensive and not worth it. For the record, he turned up – on time. He installed the whole system in a week, tidied up (tidied up!) and stuck to the quote. It was nothing short of miraculous.
David Ashcroft, the district manager, should be running the country. As it is, he is quietly going about changing lives in East Sussex.
He did leave me with one challenge, to get a plumber to connect a simple pipe to my new gas fire. It has only taken four months, six different plumbers, 14 no-shows and two blank refusals, before finally meeting Paul. He is charming, reliable and inexpensive. Naturally, I want to keep him all to myself.
Next week: Raising the roof.