Country life
A new man in my life
Leanda de Lisle
The bathrooms in the main house are more conservative, although the mirrored walls in our own took a bit of getting used to. It can be quite unnerving sitting on the loo and seeing what appears to be half a dozen other, people doing the same thing all around you. Still, the mirrors look very smart and our only real complaint is that everything in the bathroom soon broke down. For the past couple of years I've had to flirt with the too to persuade it to flush and I've been getting hit in the eye by a jet of water whenever I've turned the bath taps on. You may wonder why I didn't get hold of a plumber. Well I tried, but we have an `estate plumber' and these men are like gods. You have to pray that they will make a miraculous appearance and bring the bidet back to life. Normal channels don't work.
The estate plumber knows every sink and radiator in every cottage and farmhouse on the estate. He put most of the systems in and is, supposedly, the only person who knows how they work. This makes him as unsackable as the 'estate electrician'. So if he doesn't feel like examining your taps this month, he won't. I was so grateful for the visits he did make that I didn't com- plain when he told us we would be mad to get new taps for the bath -- they don't make them like that anymore' — and that our loo was as well as could be expected. We were getting desperate when a novel, almost sacrilegious thought struck us. Per- haps we could use an outside plumber'?
It has been a revelation. The new plumber has fixed everything, we are still solvent and life on the estate goes on much as it did before. He even agreed to put in a shower, but I can't say I've been as thrilled as my husband about that. I didn't have my first shower until I was 16 and I've never really got used to them. They are still almost as rare as sushi bars in the shires. I suspect this is because they are the bathing equivalent of fast food and so unsuited to our relaxed pace of life.
However, I admit my prejudice against showers is fortified by a morbid fear of hav- ing water on my face. I spent much of my childhood at the bottom of other swimming pools, and getting water near my nostrils reminds me of going down for the last time. Peter tells me I should practise sticking my head in a salad bowl of water until I get over my phobia, but just the thought turns me as green as a lettuce. Anyway, the shower was finished today and I'm pleased to say it isn't powerful enough to wash anything bigger than a basil leaf. The plumber is apologetic. He admits he doesn't know a lot about showers, but I've told him not to worry. He's got the bidet working like the Trevi fountain and I'm so inspired by his success that I've called in an outside electrician.
Perhaps I'm crazy, but I feel I can now dare to hope that the years of darkness are behind me and soon, quite soon, there will be a light shining on the confusion of the work surface in the kitchen and another to illuminate my way along the corridor with the broken sconces.
Previous page
