Doing nowt but a bit of thinking is more enjoyable than we imagine, according to latest research. So sat in the garden on Saturday to think. After a lot of tea, I thought of all the visitor complaints about our downstairs convenience, and the inconvenient inability to properly flush. Beyond building a new lav in the garage, only one visitor, a cousin formerly known as my fave, offered a solution to the many complaints: a new syphon. I didn’t know toilets had syphons but on thinking, realise this is obvious.
My uninterrupted thoughts were interrupted by Uni-gal’s Uni re-pack. I taught that child many things, but clearly not how to pack effectively. In return she taught me the joy of finding out things you didn’t know, aided by the net. I told her my syphon story. She didn’t class it as a story. I’ll show her. A quick web crawl and I was elbows deep in the cistern, measuring bits as instructed on toiletspareparts.com. They didn’t tell me how tricky it is to read a tape measure submerged in water without your reading glasses, but I think ‘that’ll do’ and a new one is on order.
Head to the Flea with the ScFiFan for the ‘exciting vintage and makers market’. Briefly looked for something fabulous and unusual, but being ‘over’ the accumulating phase of life, I decide against adding to my collection of dust collectors. A jolly and eclectic mix it was, but too early for the promised Vinegar Yard lunch we headed to the tried and tested Borough market for the guaranteed delicious offerings. The taking of wrong turns, and wearing of the wrong shoes, won’t add much to a market exploration series. But a sunny afternoon drink in the roof top garden bar at Queen Elizabeth Hall is thoroughly recommended.
Home again, Home again. And a return to toilet tales. The Syphon is not yet shipped. A brief encounter with the Boy’s forceful flushing, and the flusher has gone from a bit ineffective to total breakdown. Yesterday’s thinking led me to know, more intimately than I would like, toilet innards, and without any expensive tools I managed a temp fix, simply aided by a discarded tent peg found among the debris discarded by uni-gal. That counts as win.
A bank holiday bonus day, where I got to clear personal paperwork without wasting my weekend. In the depths of middle age that also counts as a win. A dull day was buoyed up by sitting in the garden with friends pretending it is still summer, wrapped in blankets.
To the west end for a lovely supper with the super Producer, where we took a large breath on meeting and didn’t come up for air until the long overdue gassing was done.
Wednesday and Thursday
A blur of activity to fit in the work I won’t be doing while taking time off on a long weekend away. Still no sign of the syphon.
Leave a sweltering muggy London and land in buckets of rain in the Emerald Isle. Didn’t bother with my usual beach pit stop for the taking of deep breaths, while marvelling at some of Mother Nature’s best work as the entire Kingdom was under back clouds and a grey mist so thick you couldn’t see the sea. This was not the trip I was thinking of. Discussed the world, woes and wonders over dinner in the Dingle Bay with a favoured relation and ended the evening with some of the black stuff and more of my faves. Carrying on with the thinking business I think it strange the last time I chatted in depth with a faved niece - who lives a stone’s throw from me in London - was here in Dingle.