Hot Flushes

Amongst the various trades who have done their best and worst in the new house is the plumbing firm who were contracted to remove the old gas boiler and central heating radiators and put in an immersion heater.

The young guy who put the immersion heater seemed less than capable of controlling his equipment, particularly his oxy-propane blowtorch, so heavy it was mounted on wheels. It kept going out, and each time he relit it (on the gas hob of our newly decorated and sparkling kitchen) there was an impressive fireball two metres across, and an orgiastic spew of greasy soot which settled on everything, smearing at the slightest attempt to wipe it clean.

He left the immersion heater with a temporary electrical connection. Luckily, the BH rang me to say that it would be worth checking. Just as well I did, as the capacity of the wire and plug he had put was quite insufficient, and after only a quarter of an hour the plug was just about to melt and catch fire. I burnt my hand removing it. It could have burnt the house down.

We then had to wait for our electrician to put in a proper electrical feed: a difficult job, now that the crap plumber had placed the immersion heater right in front of the electrical connexion, rendering it inaccessible.

Finally, just before going to Normandy, we had hot water. Again, the sharp eye of the BH came into play. What were those strange orange streaks dripping from the cistern of the lavatory? I undid the lid to the cistern, whose valve mechanism I had already marked down for replacement. There was a billow of steam coming out of the cistern, whose waters were a good 70 degrees centigrade. We all know about the menopause, but the lavatorial hot flush is a novelty.

So it was back to the firm of plumbers. They could hardly contain their mirth - one of the secretaries, with a note of envy reserved for those who enjoy the luxuries of the truly rich, and do not share them, remarked wistfully that it must be quite comfortable to be warmed like that. Still, after some grudging discussion, they sent a proper plumber.

He really needed his wits about him, because the previous plumber, after getting his pipes mixed up, had sawn away all the supposedly redundant piping, removing at one fell swoop of the carborundum disk all the incriminating evidence. He had also semi-carbonised the wall where he had done the soldering. God knows how much gas he had used making the wrong set of sweated joints.

Finally the 'good' plumber cracked it, and we now have hot water from the hot taps, and cold water where it is supposed to be. A lot of bother, and really infuriating, but the incident now brings a wry grin to the memory.