Tap dancing

For the first time in my life I danced, literally, for joy. I have danced before, you understand, but whether it has been an expression of joy or not is a moot point. Unfortunately for anyone reading this, it was a case of technishererfolgangbemangelsfrust, for it involves replacing the washer on a tap.

A washer so old that neither of my two local plumbing suppliers had seen one before. I do not say this lightly. The Venerable Sikh, who is to DIY what Bob Dylan is to motorcycle impersonation, furrowed his brow so hard the lines could be seen from space. His younger rival asked: “How old is the tap? Is it Victorian, or somefing?”

Faced with the prospect of replacing my bathroom taps (shortly before my impending move to a new flat) and weeks without water (unless I wanted to recreate Old Faithful every time I washed my hands) I went into a fug. I bought the largest rubber washer the Venerable Sikh had and went home convinced that balancing it on the valve seat would be as half-arsed as Cunégonde’s one-buttocked maid in Candide.

“Ha ha,” I roared when it worked. I danced an unattractive jig and marvelled that this was the finest case of technishererfolgangbemangelsfrust I had ever encountered.

Victorian rubber washer

Advertisements

2 Responses to “Tap dancing”

  1. rivergirlie Says:

    you see? dr pangloss was right – we live in the best of all possible worlds.

  2. Tom L Says:

    Ah, if only there was an element of glückambesiegendesmannes exhibited in this instance of technishererfolgangbemangelsfrust.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s


%d bloggers like this: