The cold tap had been slowly dripping for a week or two, getting a little worse every day. I’m a renter, so engaging a plumber would require involving the landlord. You never want to remind your landlord that you exist, in case you put ideas in their head. Maybe a cheeky little rent increase? Or perhaps there’s a college-age nephew that needs to move in? No, I thought, it’s just a little drip. I can probably fix it myself. Besides, if anecdotes are to be believed, trying to pin down a plumber is torturous. Even if you can get in touch they can only work on the third Sunday of the month from 11.17am to 11.20am and only if the moon is in its fourth quarter. I am a woman of the world. I could take on a pesky tap.
I had my first cry when I was trying to turn off the water supply. I had sourced my materials – a new tap and cartridge and an adjustable wrench. I had endured a slightly patronising hardware employee who told me three times that I’d need to turn the water supply off before attempting the fix. What did I look like, a person who’d never repaired a tap before? I saved the job for a Sunday. Fixing a tap felt like a Sunday job in the same way washing the car or shopping for bedding plants feel like Sunday jobs. I assumed, like any sane person, that I could turn off the water underneath the kitchen sink. All I found under there were multiple bottles of This will be the one that changes everything cleaning supplies.
Not a problem. Next to the hot press, which houses the immersion tank and water pump. Also camping equipment, four unused dining chairs, the vacuum cleaner, an ironing board so seldom used that the cat takes flight whenever it appears, Christmas decorations and so on. Out it all came, and I was faced with a selection of little taps and levers branching out of the pump. It had to be one of them, right? I lefty-loosied and righty-tightied every single one, and still the kitchen taps cascaded water. I worried that I hadn’t returned any of the knobs to their original positions and something was going to blow up. I felt defeated. Hence, the first cry.
I had snatched defeat from the jaws of victory. I was a failure. All Monday held for me was plumbers and landlords. Eviction, probably
This was all my fault. It was my fault I lived alone and had nobody to help me. And what about the dead dad? If my dad hadn’t died in 2008, he’d be here fixing the tap. Oh, woe was me. Mid-cry, I spotted one last turnable knob hidden behind the water tank. In hindsight there was probably heavenly light shining down upon it, for this was the stopcock I had been looking for.
I replaced a dripping tap all by myself and only cried four times. I am now unstoppable
‘When faced with the ugliness of Dublin, it’s hard not to worry about tourists thinking they’ve been sold a pup’
Five years ago I entered a psychiatric hospital with an eating disorder
I finally realised what was behind my ‘Maybe I like the misery’ approach to other people’s driving
The second and third cries came at the next hurdle. Removing the tap casing was simple, but when it came to loosening the nut that held the cartridge in. I was thwarted. It would not budge. My new wrench just bumbled uselessly around it, failing to gain any purchase. Tuckered out by my efforts and the crying, I took a break, consulted the internet, and wondered where I could source a socket wrench. I was also engaging varying degrees of expertise via WhatsApp at this point and had a small army of well-wishers behind me. One had spotted a socket set in Lidl that very weekend. Off I went to the supermarket, where I was the only one shopping for a ratchet amid the meal preppers with the Glenroe Sunday scaries.
My fourth cry came when the 47-piece socket set had every fixture imaginable except the size I needed. I had snatched defeat from the jaws of victory. I was a failure. All Monday held for me was plumbers and landlords. Eviction, probably (yes, I was catastrophising). Then, just before bed, I decided to give it one last go. I fiddled and fussed and attached the socket that most closely fit. I don’t know if it was the WD-40, the boiling water, the previous loosening attempts or the same angel who showed me the stopcock, but it worked. The nut loosened, the cartridge was free, and the new tap was installed in minutes. I’ve never felt relief like it. I received texts of congratulations as if I’d just won a marathon. I wouldn’t have blinked if a news crew showed up at the door. I resisted a fifth cry and instead considered changing career. With my new socket set and full plumbing training, I am now unstoppable.
