WHAT a week we’ve had. Mr F and I were homeless for a few days while our pipes and fittings were subjected to some serious fixing. That’s the house’s sanitation system of course, not ours.
The drains were to be dug up and the sewer exposed, so we warned neighbours, in case they wanted to organise earplugs or nose pegs in our absence.
Forget the wartime spirit: our insurers had decided there was no way we could stay to dispense tea, sympathy and fruit cake while our drains were blitzed.
The downstairs lavatory was to be totally removed and the upstairs one would also be out of action while the sewer pipes were disconnected for four days.
With no toilets and a big hole outside the front door for us to fall into, our insurers decided it was safer and healthier to move us out.
I must say I’m grateful they didn’t offer to install a portable loo in the front garden, even though it would have provided some comic relief for the neighbours.
I suffer from claustrophobia and Mr F often has to stand guard outside public conveniences if I insist on leaving the door unlocked because I’m worried about a dodgy catch. Not his favourite job.
For the same reason, I won’t ever, EVER go in the tin toilets installed in our Hillingdon high streets.
I’m not just worried about being shut in and then waiting for firemen to arrive with a giant tin opener – it’s the possibility of the doors opening too soon.
Do you remember the TV show Stars in their Eyes, where contestants disappeared through sliding doors in a puff of smoke, to emerge later dressed as a celebrity? It would be like that in reverse but without the wigs and costumes. Or the applause.
Anyway, we loaded up both cars and set off to the Premier Inn at The Orchard, Ruislip, where it was weird to feel we were on holiday, having only travelled just down the road.
It’s now a great relief (ha) to be back on home ground. We are plumbed in – well, upstairs is, anyway.
More importantly perhaps, the neighbours are still speaking to us…
