Week 21: Chaos, Pestilence and Fate

Fate and Pestilence are sitting on a log in one of the circles of hell, chewing the fat over recent events.

Fate: It’s been a good run. The pandemic that you set up has worked a treat. Kept me mighty busy for a while dealing with those who thought that “social distancing” meant driving to Durham, going to the beach in their thousands, or having a barbecue on Box Hill. But you know, there’s only so many times you can sit on the shoulder of Cathy and her Covid-lovers whilst they “accidentally” forget their face masks again. Becomes a bit boring.

Pestilence: My friend, I tried to stir things up by getting the Black Death going in China, but the buggers are on to that one. Hmmm, it takes it out of me inventing new viral infections, but I can work on it?

Chaos, overhearing the conversation, plonks himself on the log (causing a small mudslide in Turkmenistan, and Mr Cranbourne’s trousers to fail as he stepped off a bus on the Old Kent Road): I’ve an idea! Let’s pick on the occupants of a random house. Here, I’ll spin the globe [causing instant ocean warming around the island of Barbados] and Fate can stick a pin in to pick the victims. Eyes closed! No peeking!

And this my friends is how it came to be that the Hurricane season started early in the Caribbean, and the occupants of a family home in Coulsdon, England found themselves having One Of Those Weeks.

Week 21 then; in the words of the great Nat King Cole (of whom it is acceptable to listen to all year, not just at Christmas time), the week was “Unforgettable”.

“It started oh so well” (in the words of the great Freddie Mercury), with my injured ankle feeling almost back to normal. Gin (so called because despite being medically classified as a dwarf, manages to put them away like a 6’ 6” rugby player) was massively excited as she was going out with her special sister, Di. She hasn’t been able to go shopping or for lunch with Di since March and has missed her terribly. Di loves routine (as do many people with Downs’) and her usual routine with Gin involves WH Smith and The George, a Brexitspoons, in Croydon. If you are unfamiliar The George and wish to replicate the experience of dining there, get yourself some beer that is nearly out of date, chuck a load on the carpet, invite in as many homeless people as you can find, and serve those “burgers in a bun with chips meals” you can buy in Tesco’s frozen section. Glory be though, Gin’s Mum (who doesn’t drink gin) - we shall call her Granny because that’s what she is called - had craftily convinced Di that Croydon remains in lock-down, and her trip would have to be to Epsom (a town of middle-class gin drinkers if ever there was one). Chuck in Gin’s first swim since lock-down, and she was as happy as a a gin-lover floating in vat of Tanqueray.

The God of Chaos wasn’t having any of that, however. Happiness? Enjoyment? In the middle of a pandemic? Are you having a laugh? Hold on, you are. Stop that! I know, we’ll start with the shower.

I may have mentioned in previous entries that our new (but not so new) shower has failed three times since it was fitted. The mixer control stops mixing and blasts out only hot water. In our case, our solar panels power the immersion heater to boost the hot water when surplus electricity is being generated, which is brilliant. Ah, but Chaos doesn’t like Positivity and has caused the heater’s thermostatic control to fail, so the water is heated to Skin Flayingly Hot. Just what you need when the mixer control on the shower is behaving as a hot water on/off handle. We’ve been using the Emergency Electric Shower instead. I know, I know, at least we have one. It’s costing me (see “Direct Current” last week’s Blog) an extra £100 a month to run it. Gah.

So it was with some relief that our local Bathroom company were booked in to replace the mixer control cartridge. Socially Distanced And Masked Up Nick the plumber arrived, told me the manufacturer is crap and proceeded to fit the replacement. Except he didn’t. Because the manufacturer has changed the design (so it doesn’t keep failing), which has made the cartridge bigger. And it no longer fits the hole. Which is a shame because the hole in which it must fit is a fixed size in a large, glass shower wall which can‘t be removed from the wall without it shattering. You can hear Chaos and Fate sniggering already can’t you? Socially Distanced and Masked Up Nick left to discuss matters with his Boss (Lack of Communication Simon).

At this point, Chaos asked Fate to push the pin in a bit harder and a toilet inlet supply failed, meaning it wouldn’t stop filling the cistern after a flush. Same bathroom of course (Chaos may like things random, but he keeps them consistent). Emboldened by recent DIY success, I decided that this job was within My Capabilities. I ordered up a replacement from Screwfix, making sure to use appropriate lingo such as “four-be-two” at the collection counter. All good! Ah but no. Having turned off the supply valve, drained the cistern and undone the old inlet supply thingy from the water pipe, I realised the plumber who had fitted it (we call him Dodgy Darren as he was fresh out of Chokey and clearly no more of a plumber than Nana) had done it in such a way that it couldn’t be removed without the cistern being taken off the wall and the flush taken out. I don’t know what Darren had been in prison for, but his plumbing is bloody criminal. Chaos had of course picked the toilet that was best for dealing with Number Twos, meaning that we (well, me) are now having to manually refill the cistern with a bucket to allow flushing when Necessary.

Chaos wasn’t finished though and was clearly enjoying himself interfering with mechanical items. I’d ordered myself a torque wrench to use on the Carbon Steed, so as not to stress any of its delicate components. It arrived in a nice, compact package and I immediately tested it on its lowest setting on the bike. Hmm, it seemed to be REALLY tightening. A lot. I decided to test it on a loose bolt on BT’s gaming chair. Chaos smiled. The wrench sheered the bolt, jammed it on the Allen-key fitting, and both are now on their way back to on-line firm that supplied it. Gah. Again.

You would think that Chaos was done by now, but no. He then turned his attention to a posh evening meal that I was cooking. Agnolotti; 4 hours of cooking parcelled in fresh, home made pasta. The recipe suggested using a mixing machine. I can make pasta by hand, but the idea of using the Magimix was beguiling. Given the week we were having, I should have known better, but no. The pasta failed. Completely. There wasn’t time to start again and so a takeaway had to be ordered. Gah.

In amongst all of this, BT (Boy Teenager), who has continued to be a Bit Out Of Sorts, had a week of horrific nose-bleeds. Honestly it’s been enough to put you off meat for life, and has resulted in a lot of bathroom cleaning and bed linen washing. He is very sensitive to touch and will only sleep on and under a particular set of finest Egyptian cotton linens, of which we have one set. All of the bleeds have happened in his bedroom and most got onto said linens. A sleeping bag (which is sufficiently smooth) has been deployed. As has the washing machine. Perhaps unsurprisingly, I’m starting to think that Fate is working against us.

There were other events, but the word count of this Blog precludes them. Suffice it to say it’s all been a bit bleeding annoying.

There has though been some other Good News. After a few anxious weeks, GT (Girl Teenager) has decided to get some help from “Witchy Mary”. We call Mary this because GT walks into her treatment room with her head hanging and an air of sadness, and emerges an hour later, skipping back to the car. How Mary does this is a mystery, which can only be explained by spells or drugs. Either way, it works amazingly. The difference she makes to GT is staggering and we so wish that BT would visit her too.

And that was week 21. Well almost. In a final adieu, Chaos let Pestilence in on the act and both BT and GT spent a day feeling sick. This was passed to me, who spent the usual blog writing time in the bathroom (ahem, re-filling the bucket). I wouldn’t mind (that‘s a fib, I do), but I cooked one of the Best Curries Ever at the end of the week (Murgh Markani by Alfred Prasad - look it up, it’s bloody lovely) but the gurgling belly somewhat took the edge off. Hopefully next week Chaos and Fate will stick a pin in another part of the map and leave us to alone.

Love & elbow-grease,

Mr H

x