When we moved into this house, we knew it needed some updating. Over the years, we have replaced most of the windows, had the walls replastered and painted, and put a proper floor down in the loft.

There is still so much we would like to do; have a downstairs loo fitted, extend our kitchen into the side return, put in a bifolding door across the entire back of the house, convert the loft, deck the garden, repair our front wall and replace the lounge carpet with a shiny wooden floor. However, in the event that we do not win the lottery, we have to make do with making small changes as and when we can afford them.

One of our priorities is the bathroom. As it is so small, it can only fit a ¾ length bath with a shower attachment so our dreams of a roll-top bath and walk-in shower for 4 will never be realised. Well, not in this house anyway.

One of the other problems with our shower is that it has diva-like tendencies and throws a full on hissy fit should one of the other water appliances be switched on at the same time.

‘Mariah’ – as our shower is now known – will give the performance of her life when she has our undivided attention, but should someone flush the loo, wash their hands or attempt to turn on the dishwasher mid-flow show, she will cease performing until every tap is dry, every cistern re-filled and every appliance has been switched off.

It has got to the point where we shout ‘DON’T FLUSH THE LOO’ before getting into the shower. Our neighbours must think we are either very concerned about the environment or very unconcerned about hygiene and cleanliness in the home.

This arrangement does, of course, work fine between me and our 7-year old, but it seems to trigger a sudden need in the Greek God(zilla) to use the loo, wash-up (!) or put a load of laundry on.

Almost every morning, I am left shivering in our tiny bath with a head full of lather and nowhere to rinse it.

‘WHO’S IN THE LOO?!’ I call out, knowing full well who.


I swivel the shower head in its cradle like it is a manual TV aerial I am trying to tune during the Strictly final. I pull the tap up and down and scream at the trickle that comes out. Meanwhile, my hair starts to form shampoo icicles that drip down my body and eventually congregate in foam puddles by my feet.

After a few minutes, Mariah gets over herself and belts out another hot stream of water and I complete the rinse and repeat.

The Greek God(zilla) does not think it is a big deal until it happens to him and then it is all I can do to stop him from getting the duct tape out.

I have no idea why we do not just call a plumber.


1 Comment

  1. November 21, 2016 / 7:51 PM

    Can the Greek GodZilla not do plumbing? Oh yeah maybe not *remembers radiator incindent*

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