Came home last night to find Best Beloved, an open DIY manual and the toilet all locked in a dynamic tableau of Woman Against the Cistern (that Won’t Stop Flushing). We could diagnose but not fix a blocked valve-or-summat in that plasticy thingy that the water disappears into. Therefore, the cistern wouldn't fill, therefore the ballcock wouldn't rise, therefore water kept pouring into it. So, the ballcock was jammed in the up position and a phone call first thing this morning ascertained that (of course) our plumbing insurance only covers emergency emergencies, not yer general sort of emergency. But at least we got pointed to an approved-hence-expensive plumber (first cheque drawn on the new joint account!) and two hours later we had a new summat. So we can’t complain.
“At least we get a new cistern out of it,” said the Boy before heading off to school, before the plumber’s arrival, with a naïve innocence that almost brings a tear to the eye. He still hasn’t twigged that he lives with a soldier’s son and a farmer’s daughter and we don’t do new – not when old, patched up and perfectly serviceable still works just fine.
Aw. As of today, if this had happened in the not too distant future, you would have been able to call me. If you get my drift. Meanwhile, if it happens again, it's called a syphon. jo x
ReplyDeleteDid occur to me, but I don't have your number! I was wondering how the thingy worked. Now I know it's a syphon, all is explained.
ReplyDelete