We’ve been doing various things around the bathroom – not, I hasten to add, trashing it like the last time we did various things around the bathroom – because it’s been in for a while yet and the odd thing needs dealing with, touching up and what-have-you.
One of those things was the seal strip thing on the bottom of the shower screen. Now, there’s a lot of issues with this shower screen anyway. Because there’s a school of thought – with a graduating class – that the shower screen is not the one that is supposed to go with the bath, nor is the bath the one that goes with the bath siding. Basically, there are three different curves when you reach the curve of the P-shaped bath. It is, of course, because Matthew ordered these things after we paid him for expensive and matching items, purely a choice of what was cheapest and looked like it would be the closest match.
We have long accepted that. Along with the pedestal for the wash basin not being the actual pedestal for the wash basin. Because, you know, massive fucking con artist.
But anyway, that’s by the by. The seal at the bottom of the shower screen was maaaanky. I’ve taken it off and cleaned it on numerous occasions but it was just going more and more orange which, for a clear strip, is a bit odd. And even more baffling when you think that none of the soaps we use are in any way, shape or form orange. You’d clean it, think it looked okay, put it back on and a couple of days later it’s orange again.
I’d had enough of that shit. So we went an bought a new one. Why was stuff when you can pay money for a new strip which is long enough for two replacements? It’s the new cleaning. I don’t know how much else we’ll do in a similar fashion but it’s quite liberating. And probably less likely to give us a hideous pooing disease.
We went to B&Q solely for that strip and a bag of compost.
We spent probably the better part of forty minutes discussing stepping stones for the garden path. This is our life now. I’m not sure I like it.
We left with loads of stuff. And a bag of compost way bigger than anyone thought we’d be getting. We spent about fifty quid. I mean, bloody hell. It says it should not be carried by one person. It’s that size of bag. It’s entirely manageable by one person, but it shouldn’t be done.n
Obviously I’ve done it.
I mean Carole has string arms. So bugger it, just grab it by the join and carry it. What’s the worst that’ll happen? If I drop it on my foot it’ll probably just rebreak those toes that were totally probably broken when I dropped that ten kilograms of firewood on them but didn’t hurt enough for me to believe they were broken. But probably were.
Not that we can take it outside because Trixie is blocking our every exit from the house. She just meanders in the front door now, happy as Larry and makes her way to the back of the house where the cat food lives. We’ve had to buy cat treats so that she can be lured out into the garden.
This is our life now.
Held hostage by a cat. Just me, Carole and a massive bag of compost.
Still, at least the bottom of the shower screen’s all shiny.