I just added one more thing to the list of stuff you should not do on the north side of 50: crawling under your house looking for a water leak.
There are two main reasons for this.
1) It’s really hard to get the cobwebs out of your hearing aids, pacemaker and artificial limbs.
2) Middle age head-eye coordination ensures there will be significant brain trauma from support beams.
Or to put it another way, the joke is in your hand.
Which brings us back to the need for a professional plumber, who is coming. Soon. Absolutely. Unless the rugby is on.
But in the meanwhile, because I am a cup-is-half-full kind of guy (at least I was before the water leak and the prostate issues), I am focusing on the many reasons to celebrate the plumber not being here.
1) We now have absolute proof that our watch is waterproof. Yay!
2) We are no longer the Queen of England and lost our access to the Crown Jewels, which is a drag, because they would have been lovely to wear to the rugby or, better still, to pawn so we could pay the plumber.
3) We have more time to go exploring under the house again.
While under the house (note to self: wear football helmet), we can collect hundreds of old beer cans, probably left by previous plumbers. (“Heh Harry, as a highly paid professional plumber, could I ask you to hand me another indispensable plumbing tool, namely, a cold beer”). The scrap aluminum should be worth, I’m guessing, about $9,000.
And while under the house, maybe we can determine what’s with the mysterious, built-over concrete steps.
The blog has two theories. In 1953, when the house was built, they a) led to where the front door used to be, before the extension, or b) they led down to a cellar where crazy Uncle Elmo lived after the war.
We’re betting on B.
P.S. The plumber came and he is a prince among men.
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