...or be careful what you wish for: An everyday tale of renovation folk.
So, Thames Water came, saw and conquered over the weekend and we now have water pouring in torrents from every tap.
(And while I'm on the subject of TW, I was shocked, horrified even, at the behaviour of the people in cars that had been stopped by the traffic lights that were necessary because the workmen were digging up the road. Come on, people, surely we're not all that busy, rushed and stressed that we can't sit quietly in a traffic queue for two minutes without hooting our horns and shouting abuse at the workmen? After all, this isn't New York but rather a sleepy market town in Wiltshire. On a Sunday, for goodness sake. No? Oh. OK.)
But now it turns out that the shower tray can't cope with the water flow. Well, more precisely, the drain can't cope and so the bathroom is flooding. (A modicum of artistic licence being employed here for illustrative purposes - in reality, the bath mat is really getting quite soggy.)
I'm living in hope that it's simply a job for Mr Muscle and we won't have to dig up the bathroom floor to replace the drains with bigger ones.
Famous last words...?