Well, that was rather more than I anticipated

[oursin]

I knew I had a few life-admin/domestic things this week: dental hygienist appointment, parcel to pick up from the depot because they put a card through the door last week, go and look for new sitting room chairs -

And I thought, why not, now that booking is opened and I am doing all this life-admin business, schedule my flu-jab -

And I thought, post office depot is not 100 miles from network provider's most local store, I could go there and buy myself a new phone since I am doing no good at all at their website.

So: I have lovely shiny toofypegs.

I have picked up my parcel.

I have a shiiiiny new smartphone that turned out to be cheaper if bought in-store, and has ported over my number without trouble, though I am still getting to grips with it more generally.

And then:

I got in and thought, that's funny, it's that sound as if the tank is refilling -

And then I looked out of the kitchen window and saw a stream of water spouting out from under the gutter from the cold-water tank in the not very accessible loft.

So I rang partner, and then contacted British Gas Homecare (with which our policy also covers plumbing) and booked someone to come tomorrow as it didn't seem urgent-urgent though something that needed attending to fairly soon -

And then went to meet partner so we could go and look at furniture (we think we have spotted some chairs that Will Fit The Bill, though a bit dearer than we had anticipated) -

And when we got in, partner went up into the loft to see if he could at least do something temporary, and it is no longer gushing out but it is coming in at great speed -

So partner is currently sitting up there like the little Dutch boy and we are waiting for an emergency plumber within the next few hours.

The situation is complicated in that the stopcock for the house appears to be in the downstairs flat, the occupants of which are currently out. There is a mains stopcock outside in the pavement, but that is for us and next door, and also, I think one needs some special thing to turn it off?

AAAAAAARGH.

And in connection with domestic concerns, saw this article about the rise of the inept motherhood trope, which of course, my dearios, is by no means a new motif, come on down, Provincial Lady and a vast number of jolly columns in women's magazines, and Jill Tweedie's Fainthearted Feminist, and probably several more that I have forgotten.

Comments

[perennialanna]

The Blessed Katharine Whitehorn, of course. A very quick flick through Only On Sundays gives this:

"Motherhood is the art of doing things with one hand; motherhood is the art of hiding Little Red Riding Hood after the eighteenth reading. Motherhood is leapfrog conversation, intelligible only to other mothers: it goes, 'I don't think it's so much that he's wrong in don't go near the edge, dear principle as that he's so terrible put it down at the practice.'

Motherhood is finding a piece of sausage in your purse; motherhood is finding your purse in the dustbin; motherhood is not finding your purse."