Carol’s Column

Plumbing the depths to find the plumber inside me

There's a hole in my bucket, dear Liza, dear Liza ... well fill it, dear Henry, dear Henry, fill it ...

When we acquired this house, "characterful with potential", we attempted certain renovations such as modernising the bathroom by installing a shower.

Last week I noticed water escaping from a hole in the drywall construction gypsum board directly outside the shower. It was trickling down the stairs.

It was not necessary to be a minister of water affairs to realise the shower had a serious leak, and as happens in times of crisis, my spouse was away.

This time in hospital for a second op where he was being waited upon by a flock of nurses to whom he'd become happily accustomed. Meanwhile, I had a leak in the bucket and there was no Henry to fix it.

I called a plumber for a quote. He said the entire fitting had been shockingly installed and it should be ripped out and replaced. This would cost money, enough, I calculated, to take him and his family of six to Disney World in Florida, US.

Being a great supporter of women's empowerment, I decided to act. Who knows, within my inner being I would find a plumber.

At the friendly discount hardware store I explained my problem and was advised to buy a can of multi-purpose foam to insert in the gaps behind the tiles as well as a tube of silicone sealant to seal all the remaining holes and cracks. I bought two just to make sure.

"You must get your man to work slowly and patiently," said Absalom known as Mister Hardware in the area.

"My man? I'll be doing this job," I said with dignity. He shook his head in horror.

As instructed, I removed all the old sealer, pulling it off in threads and chunks, cleaned out bits of crumbling cement grout and cleaned the surfaces so perfectly that my Auntie Lily could have eaten off them. Then dried everything with a hairdryer.

Perhaps you are familiar with the contraceptive foam that comes in a tube and works on the principle that when it makes contact with air, it expands. This was similar. I inserted the multi-purpose foam into the hole, gave a small squeeze, it shot out, expanded and within seconds the shower backing was filled and the tiles no longer moved when pushed.

Then came the silicone which Absalom Mister Hardware had said was "miraculous".

"If Moses would have seen it, he would have included it in the 10 commandments," he enthused. "Squeeze out a thin bead. Work in thin layers," he added. "That's the secret, seal and wait, seal and wait."

I will not go into all the horrible details but it will suffice to say that silicone sealant is not user friendly. Eventually, the entire cubicle was covered by a protective skin of silicone. As were my hands. Together, the shower and I had acquired a second skin.

Two days later, I tried the shower. Success – the leak was gone. I cannot tell you how proud I felt, how accomplished, how self-sufficient. This is gender equality at its best, I mused to myself as I gazed at the job which would have cost six airline tickets to the US.

And then I fetched my husband from hospital. Because of his wounds, he'd been told to shower instead of bath.

"It's okay, you can shower," I said modestly, "the leak's fixed."

From the bathroom came a roar of outrage. "Which bloody cretin fixed this shower?" he yelled. "I've never seen such a botched disaster in all my life!"

There is still some multi-purpose foam left. As I said, when it comes into contact with air, it swells in size and hardens. The thought crossed my mind that it would make a perfect murder weapon. Imagine squirting into somebody's mouth ...

■