Dripping yarns

Well, the day is drawing to a close, and my hands are a little tied workwise, so I thought I'd spend the next half and hour or so catching up with you all. I could give a status update on the flat, but there's not much to tell really. Suffice it to say that I'm truely astonished by how little I've managed to accomplish. At least I don't find it depressing any more - I've come to terms with the whole situation and can now view all matter of turmoil with an air of detached calm (like my electrician who's been ill for the last two weeks with flu). I've learned to find small joys wherever I'm able. My shower was delivered yesterday - two weeks late, but not nearly enough to disturb my rock solid sense of inner calm (and besides, there's still no sign of my plumber to fit it. Oops I can feel my inner calm trembling, better change the subject quick Plumbers, grrrr...). The shower is a truely lovely piece of design, and I can't wait to see it fitted, and better yet use it. It's pretty.

One thing this experience has taught me is how inflexible my viewpoint can be. In many ways I think I have relatively flexible viewpoint. But once I set my heart on something, it quickly crystallises to "That one! I want that one! I have to have that one. My life won't be complete without it!". I felt very much that way about the first shower I saw. And the one after that. And those that followed. Each time convinced that I couldn't live without it (please assume comedic hyperbole rather than shallow materialism).

The shower that appealed most I found on display in a bathroom store. I was immediately attraced by it's simple yet elegant design and it's silky satin sheen. Naturally I couldn't resist playing with it. I'll now relate a piece of advice that may come in useful should you ever find yourself shopping for a shower. If said shower is mounted above a large trough, please assume that the trough is probably there for reason. I realised this when I twiddled the shower controls and was blasted by a jet of cold water. It took me a second to work out that the sudden appearance of the water stream, and my twiddling were not unrelated events. I turned the shower off, and stood there with a slightly startled expression on my face, water dripping off me. I squelched my way over to the counter, where a sales assistant cast me a rather bemused glance. I stood there briefly, a small pool of water slowly forming around me, raised an damp arm and pointed back at the shower.

"That one," I said, "I'll take that one".

(It later transpired that particular shower couldn't be installed in the limited cavity space I have to deal with. I'm more than happy with the replacement I found, but I'll always have fond memories of that first shower)