Bodger and Bazzer
Just want to fill you in on my current living situation.
Myself and Mrs Powersurge are now several weeks of living with our sets of parents on an alternating basis. It's like being a child again, but not in a less-fun more "adult" way.
A few weeks back our shower unit melted down - a warping dome of burnt-brown melted plastic began bulging across its top surface, accompanied by the sharp stench of vapourised long-chain hydrocarbons.
Against our better judgement our landlords advised to get the plumber who'd fit it in the first place a couple of years again - Barry the Bodger. He came, he saw, he decreed that the previous shower wasn't very a good unit, he gave a quote, he agreed to come back on Sunday to fit a new one.
When our landlady reminded him that it was in fact HE who had fit the previous shower, he was apparently taken aback. So taken aback that he didn't turn up as agreed on Sunday despite us having since spoken to him, and now whenever we call his mobile quickly diverts to voicemail when we get through.
Barry had installed two showers for us before this. The first didn't work (it either didn't turn off or the hot water didn't work, I think we suffered from both at one point). And the second unit? The second one exploded promptly after he put it in. Yes, exploded, with an almight bang and a splatter of soot. It gave Mrs P a shock (emotional rather than electrical, thankfully) as she was using it as the time!
What have I learned from this debacle? You should never entrust your plumbing with a Leamingtonian chap called Barry. (Unless he agrees to bring his brother Paul along. Ho hum.)
So for now we cast off the shackles of adult freedom to relive the petty annoyances of childhood. Sometimes you wonder how they think you cope without them around. For example, round at the in-laws this morning there was a knock at the door and a shout of "Are you up yet?"