A Crap Plumber

Let there be no misunderstanding: I have never attended plumber’s school, I have never enrolled for a do-it-yourself-anything course, and I have no aspirations of becoming a famous plumber.

But, I sure wish I didn’t have two left hands when it comes to fixing stuff linked to the drinking water system. Make no mistake, there’s no desire not to be successful, simply a problem of the pipes and couplings not wanting to co-operate with me. If I were to sit for an exam in this arena of expertise, I wouldn’t expect to be awarded any sort of marks, let alone a grade.

For some time, we have been aware that the water pump (mounted inside the garage) has been leaking at the seals, with the result that a leak-pond forms inconveniently on the floor near the pump. Not good when there is a stack of Pickfords removal cartons packed on the floor.

Knowing what skilled tradesmen charge, I decided (knowing full well that this could be the start of a very unpleasant experience) to disconnect the pump and to take it to the repair agents, who are located in Levin, 35 k’s to the North of Waikane.

As a pedantic pedanticist, I pre-planned Operation Water Pump in the minutest detail. Sort of in the minutest detail.

Tools: Lesson Number One which you learn at Plumbing School is that, in order to do any job well, you must use the proper tools. Hmmm. We have one smallish shifting spanner and no plumbing pliers. Tyler is deputised as emissary to go across to the neighbour to borrow something to undo the pipes.

The neighbour is quite humorous at this stage of a Sunday afternoon.

(Above): Jeanette holds up the neighbour’s spanner and ours. No prizes for guessing which one belongs to whom. It’s big enough to dismantle the bloody Eiffel Tower!

Everyone in the house is brought up to speed regarding Operation Water Pump. Twice, at least. Clayton checks that the spanner fits all the nuts. Emergency spare water is tapped off, so that life will not come to a standstill on Monday morning.

Monday morning and I wake up before the alarm. I have coffee (tea, actually) and fiddle a bit with the computer, to keep me tech-savvy, I pretend. There’s plenty of time for last minute showers, preparation for school, etc. I will leave just before 7:30 to get to Campbell’s at 8:00

7:15 and time to disconnect the pump. Right. All goes well, and I’m ready to drain the pump, when I notice… well, I notice that the electrics are such that my disconnected pipes are not sufficiently disconnected. Other stuff (which seems glued or welded in place for life)

Damn (Actually, something else). Double damn (double something else)

I am starting to perspire slightly. There is somewhat laboured breathing. That, too, is not good. What now? This intricate plan of mice and men… I failed to develop a Plan “B” for this very eventuality.

What now? That was not meant to sound panicky, as I do not panic easily, as many people can confirm. Sort of. I think.

With much cunning, deep breathing and scaredy-cat panic, I eventually dismantle half of house and a greater part of the water reticulation system. Luckily, I stop before breaking out the kitchen sink and toilet pan. Thank heavens for that, as I am sure that Jeanette had already looked up the telephone number for… well, for the unmentionables.

Finally, I am travelling northwards on State Highway 1, headed for Levin. I am disappointed to note that some of the road hogs motorists are exceeding the 100 kph speed limit. Mostly larger more expensive models. Let the speedsters perform, I remind myself, sticking to the limit, even though I can see that I will arrive late in Levin. Just too bad.

I meet with the pump expert Stu at about a quarter past eight. He has little hope for the patient – his view is that you can never predict the reliability of a re-conditioned unit. He only trusts genuine German Grundfos engineering. Probably made in China.

By ten, I am back at Chartwell and trying to re-assemble my Meccano pieces, in  a way that even Frank Hornby would approve. I even open up the priming valve and get that filled with some water. I make a mental note to look for a stainless steel mesh filter.

Guess what? The joint outlet pipe (naturally) has a leak! Did I really expect anything less? To be perfectly honest, yes: I imagined that, by some freak chance, this could the first time before I die that I complete a plumbing task satisfactorily.

I manage to locate Stu who, by chance, was out on a service call-out in the Reikorangi valley. I explain to problem and he agrees to call here on the way back to Levin. It turns out that I had used too much PTFE tape and this prevented the pipe end being joined properly. He re-wound the joint, and re-tightened.

Whallah! No leak, as performed by the professional. Thanks, Stu.