April showers

I like to think I have my inner drama queen under control. Yes, occasionally I can feel her struggle against her restraints, like when I drop a gloopey spoon on my newly washed kitchen floor or discover I've been sewing for the last few minutes without thread in the bobbin, but generally she stays put and fumes quietly to herself.


These last few weeks however have seriously tested that control. 


It started with a hospital appointment. I'm not going to bore you with all the details but that pinched nerve I mentioned way back when, well it wasn't. It turned out to be the result of inflammation which has caused another few issues ( hence my workroom being a no sew area!)
Anyway I had to go for some tests to see what's causing it. The procedure itself wasn't a problem but the poking and prodding required before hand by the registrar and the ubiquitous trainee left my lower back feeling as if a troupe of Leprechauns had just performed Riverdance on it, and stayed for four encores.


She'd raised her head having sensed the possibility of a rant. 


After getting the boys off to school the following morning I decided the safest and most comfortable place for me would be back in bed. I hadn't taken No 1 sons desire to tussle with a hedge in to account, or his inability to keep a cycle helmet on his head past our garden gate. The hedge won, his head lost.

He takes his helmet with him but it spends more time strapped to his bag than on his head

One mild concussion later and there I was, trying to find a comfortable spot on the couch beside him in order to monitor his condition as per the GP's instructions, all the time fluctuating between the desire to hold him, comfort him and berate him for not wearing his helmet. The conflict of motherhood! How often does the hand that soothes the fevered brow itch to administer a clip round the ear?


She'd now thrown her hands in the air, gesturing wildly.


A few days after that the plumber called to let me know our new water heater had arrived and could be installed the following week. We needed to move our existing one to allow for remodelling the bathroom and had decided to replace it with one that could be used with solar panels - it all seemed such a good idea at the time. Ah, hindsight!

Our new, all singing, all dancing Dalek of a hot water tank

A flurry of cleaning ensued.(Ridiculous really since from previous experience I know that the house will descend into chaos within minutes of any workman arriving, but it somehow makes me feel better knowing it's clean to begin with.) Halfway through this frenzy the vacuum cleaner started to make some very strange noises. The drive belt had gone! Well, I guess the hoovering would just have to wait until it was repaired. 


The first week of the holidays arrived and at 8 a.m on the dot so did Dave the plumber, much to the disgust of my two teenage sons who had been looking forward to a fortnight of 'lie ins'. They made sure everyone was aware of their displeasure.
The swap over of tanks did not go as smoothly as planned (now there's a surprise). Years of extensions and remodelling had left a labyrinth of pipes under the floor as well as in the loft that Daedalus would have been proud of. Poor Dave spent three full days trying to find out which ones were redundant before he could complete the job. 

Just some of the pipes under the floor

That wasn't the only problem. We knew that the shower in the bathroom would no longer be usable but since it was due to be replaced it wasn't an issue. What we didn't know was the two remaining showers would also be unusable as they were supplied by a different source and there would be incompatible water pressure. To get to the pipes to rectify this we had to sacrifice our en suite.

My de-tiled en suite. Oh well I wanted the tiles replaced at some point anyway.

By this point my inner drama queen was tearing theatrically at her hair.


Two days in to the four of us using the remaining shower, the one we'd had fitted last year in preparation for the destruction of the main bathroom, I discovered it was leaking. While I was searching for more old towels to mop up the water the phone rang. My vacuum cleaner couldn't be fixed without considerable outlay. Great! The carpet hadn't been hoovered for a week and was beginning to make me twitch. 
Okay, I can deal with this I thought. I decided to borrow the spare that my husband keeps in his workroom. Twenty minutes after switching it on it suddenly stopped. I'd managed to kill another one, only there was no possibility of an expensive resurrection this time.


She was beginning to slip free of her restraints.


Trying to see a silver lining I remembered an ad. for a Dyson special offer that would give 20% off a new vacuum if you sent them back an old one. The man of the house was dispatched to retrieve the belt deficient hoover. His van was blocked in by the joiners who at that moment were tearing the rest of the bathroom apart so he decided to take my car. It wasn't playing. Since I hadn't driven it for three months it would seem that in a fit of pique the battery had discharged itself. That's when we discovered the jump leads that had been in the shed were now conspicuous by their absence.


I let her out. I'm not proud of myself. The collected towels were thrown on to the floor, a few choice words were expelled and the deceased vacuum was kicked on the way past as I flounced with Bette Davies haughtiness from the room. It took a couple of damp hankies and a few glasses of red but eventually I regained control.


So today when the bathroom fitters went through an electrical cable and took out all the plug points in the kitchen I smiled serenely 


She collapsed in a swoon, the back of her hand raised to her head.