Preston station was very subdued this morning. Tall young men in long grey coats waved their flags more sombrely than usual while replacement buses ferried people in from the other side of the crash site. It must be awful to work for the railways when the railways fuck up. I blame Thatcher, naturally. Some things will never work right if your priority is shareholder dividends.
But I got home safe, drank some miso soup, hung out a million socks on the line and then headed a few streets over to help D the plumber (employed by J the plumber) install some new radiators in the house of K the sculptor. I wasn't sure I would be any use, or that D would want me around, but in fact I did some nifty bending, fitted a few valves, and nipped back for my lovely drill when his proved insufficiently whoomfy. It was interesting, and there was only one leak, but now I am grubby and smelly and have to be back there in the morning well early. But this is what I wanted to be doing on a Monday. Must remember that.
joella
2 comments:
You were bang on the money about those flat head screwdrivery valvey things too. What a star.
Marvellous! This proves a) that you had a decent plumber in the first place, which is good news for everything else in the house, and b) that while it is very inadvisable to plumb under the influence of alcohol, talking about plumbing is no problem.
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