No bathroom to speak of…

Deciding I should get the bathroom updated was traumatic enough: What sort of bath did I want? Fitted units or just buy ’em in from Argos (I went for a bit of both – stylish to some degree but yet mindful of the escalating cost…)? What kind of taps, shower, tiles, lights?

Aaargh.

I started to go slightly mad and concerned many friends by obsessing over my wonderful basin tap. They sat nodding and comforting me saying “yes, yes, it’s all very exciting isn’t it dear?” as if I were some batty old aunt who wouldn’t stop going on about watering the budgie*.

Now they have actually started fitting the damn thing and the trauma doesn’t end there.

Plumber: “did you order a bath waste, pet?”
Me: “a what?”
Plumber: *sighs* “a bath waste”
Me: “er…. I went through things with the nice sales lady, I thought she’d added everything I needed.”
Plumber: *sighs again* “yes, she should have added this but she hasn’t. What sort were you expecting?”
Me: “sort….?”
Plumber: “A pop up waste or a plug and chain?”
Me: “pop up waste….???!” *faints*

The language of bathrooms developed to make the average person feel stupid in the face of workmen and to stop them querying why it costs £17 for a ‘click waste’ in the basin. It comes from the same language family that comprises electricians, kitchen fitters, roofers and any other trade that invariably involves a man whistling through his teeth saying “what cowboy did that? It’ll cost you to fix that mind…”

*Actually all bar ThriftyGal, whose response was along the lines of “Are you mad? What about all the shoes you could buy with that money?”

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