The impossibility of plumbers

Plumbers. What's up with them?

Even the plumber who offers a 24 hour call out service can't install a simple shower until August, maybe September.

This is Andrew's Father's Day
card...

...and this is mine. I'm not sure
how to take this.

This means that I still don't have a shower, although I do at least have confirmation that what I have is a power shower, so I could in theory buy one and fit it myself, if I felt lucky. I mean, it's water and electricity, but how hard could it be?

In other news, Andrew and I got our Father's Day cards on Sunday, which in retrospect is odd because it isn't Father's Day until next weekend (which at least makes me feel better about not calling my Dad.) The cards in question appear to show a dramatic divergence of regard, although I know that actually I got the one I did because it has a pun in it.

Plumbing the Depths

It's been a bit of a week for plumbing. I've had a week's holiday from home with Hanna and Arya, which has been glorious, if incredibly exhausting, but all manner of things have gone wrong in the plumbing department (that of the house, thankfully, not my own plumbing, which would be grimmer.)

"Can I take it to the bridge!"

First, the washing machine died the death. £400 to replace it (including installation and disposal of the old one.) Hanna is waiting in today for them to come and deliver; I hope they get there early, so that she can take Arya to the playground while the weather remains good. This is a possibility now that I have finally found a playground in my home town. I've only been there a year (although in my defence a lot of the play equipment is newer than that.)

Actually, first the main sewer backed up, it's just taken longer to get that sorted. I contacted the ground landlord and have now had a look in the manholes (thanks to the father and partner of one of the other leaseholders, who came over with crowbars) and Anglian Water is allegedly on the case. The progress on this was slowed by the fact that the third leaseholder apparently doesn't communicate much*, and a fire alarm from the third floor flat has prompted the Fire Brigade to direct us to put in an integrated alarm system at no-doubt exorbitant cost (which enlivened conversation with the leaseholder no end, as the tenant and agent had never mentioned this.)

Then the washing machine, which has meant two trips to Martlesham to do laundry. Actually, the one on Thursday was for Hanna to vote, although both of our constituencies stuck predictably with the Blue Meanies. I can't say that the result of the election doesn't fill me with a sick sense of dread, but I'm trying not to let it get to me. I do feel that it's time I got more politically active, however, perhaps because I've got my daughter's future to consider now.

You may recall I said we wanted to
take her to see the diplodocus.

This morning, the shower broke, by which I mean 'made grinding noises and emitted smoke'. I don't know what this is going to set me back yet. I need to persuade a plumber to come in largely on spec to check the connections and tell me what I need to buy. It feels almost cheeky asking.

On the upside, we've been to the Natural History Museum, found that playground, spent time as a family and finally beaten Pandemic (fuck you, global viral Armageddon!)

Ultimately, I am torn between my belief that money is fundamentally unimportant to the pursuit of happiness, and the stark reality that while money can't make you happy, lack of it is pretty miserable, especially when you need to make the mortgage every month. I know in my heart that all I need to be a good father is to love my daughter and be an emotional support for her in times of trouble, but I also want to provide for her** and clothe and house her and sometimes buy her books without worrying about eating for the rest of the week.

In the long run, what matters to me is my daughter. In the short term,  however, having a livable house is no small thing.

Hey ho. I can wash at work, and at least I will have a very shiny washing machine.

* Or indeed at all, preferring to route everything through a solicitor who seems to expect us to pay her for the services for which her client is presumably already being billed.
** In collaboration with Hanna and Andy, I'm not trying to be some sort of sole breadwinner.

I'm under the weather, Dug.

How sick was I? As sick as this guy. You don't
think this particular parrot looks that sick? You
try being hunted close to extinction on a false
accusation of sheep worrying and see how you
feel!

Well, that was a fun weekend.

I've not been well - presumably a gift Arya brought back from nursery - and I've been on my own. Hanna and Arya have been in Leeds with her parents and are now decorating the nursery and spare room in Martlesham. I sat on my sofa, got a bit of writing done, and watched a lot of shit on Netflix (for which thanks are due to my friend Sally; I would return the favour, but conveniently linked logins mean that anyone logging into my Amazon Instant Video account can also order books in my name.)

My somewhat dreary time was enlivened by video calls from Hanna and Arya, one of which was apparently demanded by Arya, which suggests not only that she misses me, but that she knows that the weekend is our usual time together. She's growing so fast!

Anyway, I have rewatched and reviewed Van Helsing and The Last Airbender, watched and reviewed Red: Werewolf Hunter, Daybreakers and Chimera vs. Pegasus, and churned through a whole bunch of Continuum and Warehouse 13. I started watching Lost Girl, but can't get over the creep factor, and have also got back to Stargate Universe, which was interrupted when they took it off Prime Video.

It's not exactly being 'busy', but it keeps me sane.

Unclean! Unclean!

This is my fifth day back at work after Christmas, but three of them have been spent either working from home with mild flu or sick with serious flu.

Yay!

Still, I feel all right today, so I'm going to try to get into work. Aside from anything else, I should have a birthday present waiting in the post room.

And so this is Christmas

This is either a huge pile of pressies or a very small tree.*

This is going to be a different sort of Christmas.

I have my own tree, my own lights; my own stack of presents in the corner of my own living room, in my own house. In a few hours, my own family will be joining me here. We'll be spending the evening here and in the morning opening our presents here, in my own house.

That's a big thing. My whole life, Christmas has been spent in someone else's home, usually my parents' and more recently with Hannah's parents. We will be seeing both sets, my parents later on Christmas Day and Hannah's on Boxing Day, but we're starting the day with eggs and presents in my home, with Hannah here and Andrew, and of course Arya.

Not so long ago, I'd pretty much given up on the idea of having a family. Arya has been a life-changer for me, and Hannah little less so. This isn't Arya's first Christmas, but that was spent at Hannah's parents and, while a good time, wasn't ours in the way that this year is looking to be. In a lot of ways, this is going to be my first grown-up Christmas, and I'm looking forward to it.

The full plan is that once Arya is in bed, we will chill, play board games and eat baked Camembert. In the morning we will open presents, and have eggs Benedict with ham I am cooking today and eggs royale with salmon Hannah cured at the weekend. Hannah and Andrew will have a glass of prosecco and Arya and I will have orange juice. Later, we will drive to Norfolk and have Christmas dinner with my parents, with more presents.

On Boxing Day morning, we'll head north to Leeds for a couple of days with Hannah's family, before coming back to Martlesham. Not sure where the new year is going to be spent, but I'm hoping to be back here for my birthday on the 4th.

* It's a very small tree.

The Rats in the Walls

Well, actually it's damp, but who's counting.

At the start of the week I was very coldy and last night I went to see The Battle of the Five Armies, so I'm going to have to attack the damp tonight. My plan is to knock the affected plaster off gently, brush or vacuum it up, and give the remains a go over with mould killer. That should hopefully keep until I can afford to have the plaster redone.

While I have the machine out, I can vacuum the rest of the flat as well.

Oh, the trials of being a grown up.