Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
only talk to him so that they have access to a plumber. He's a nice man, though, and despite
flooding the house once because he forgot to reconnect a tap, or even because of incidents
like that, he's generally available.
It was decided that the work should be done while I was away, that my presence while
plumbers and assorted plasterers and tilers went about their messy business in the house was
not going to be helpful. Apparently, having me fussing about and constantly asking them to
clean up after themselves would not help with deadlines or costs; from experience, local ar-
tisans work better when I'm not there.
I was, oddly, quite excited when I arrived home after a fortnight away and was looking
forward to seeing the new bathroom. It looked magnificent; a gleaming, white and chrome
beauty with one of those large 'umbrella' shower heads and with a wide, very un-Victorian,
base. It had been finished earlier that day and was as yet unused and after a three-train, two-
plane sixteen-hour journey looked like the mirage of an oasis in a desert. I soaked it up;
washing the long journey out of my system, enjoying the temperature controlled forceful, yet
relaxing, jet stream.
'Turn it off! Turn the thing off!' Natalie shouted, interrupting my shower reverie.
Apparently, while I was lost in my own world and lathering up like there was no tomorrow,
the real world was falling apart. Water was bubbling up out of every other plug hole in the
house, and even splashing out of the washing machine downpipe. The toilets had emptied
and strange gurgling sounds, like a burping competition in a cave, echoed around the house.
It was like a scene from one of those over-the-top disaster films, like
Earthquake
.
'Bloody Cruchet!' I shouted, 'What has he not connected now?' Worse, I thought, what had
he misconnected?
Natalie rang him immediately and explained the problem. 'Hmm,' he said, 'sounds like a
blockage.' Natalie had the phone on speaker as I stood there dripping onto one of her precious
rugs; a heinous crime.
'No, really? A blockage?' I thundered sarcastically, 'Lucky you're around for such top-notch
diagnosis.'
'I'll be back first thing,' he continued not hearing me in the background, 'in the meantime,
don't use the shower. Or the washing machine. Or flush the toilet.
Bonne fin de soirée!
'
'He's not coming now?!' I shouted, the long trip and the subsequent disappointment inducing
one of my 'Basil Fawlty' moments. 'He lives a hundred metres away. Get him back on the
phone! What do you mean I can't use the toilet? Has he done this deliberately? I've seen
Jean
de Florette,
you know. I know how these people operate.'
'Ian, calm down, he'll be here first thing, he—'
'Can I use his toilet? This is ridiculous!'
To be fair to Cruchet he did arrive first thing. I was yet to be convinced that he hadn't some-
how screwed up the entire plumbing system but his explanation was definitely a plausible
