"Shush now. We have the internets again!"

That's what I just sympathetically said to my wife, as she had a coughing fit and I was trying to watch the Avengers gag reel, now we had working broadband again at home.

It all started a few weeks ago. Actually, let's go back a bit further. You could say, it started a few months ago. I moved the Wii through to the extension and it couldn't reach the wireless any more. I bought a wireless repeater. It appeared to connect to the wireless. Devices connected to it. The devices didn't connect through it to the internet. I did what most people would do in those circumstances... I pissed about with it for about 5 minutes and gave up and switched it off and didn't have internet access in the extension.

Then other things started displaying similar symptoms. Things would appear to connect to the wireless, but they wouldn't get the internet connection. Or, most frustratingly, they would see the wireless but couldn't connect to it. Despite all the passkeys being right and the router appearing to be doling out internet. A reboot of the router would solve the issue and I didn't make a big deal of it.

Then it started happening more and more. Then all the time. Then a reboot wouldn't solve it. Then I couldn't connect to it via an ethernet cable. Then it wouldn't even pretend it was connecting to the internet, or even trying.

This was serious now. I hadn't just lost the internet in a room, I'd lost it in my entire house. I've had good fortune with internet connections. It's never really been down. I have a stonking fast connection at work. I'm used to it just being there. I'm very first world. Turn on a tap, water comes out. Turn on a switch, a light turns on. Turn on a network enabled device, there is internet on it. Only now there wasn't. Except if I used 3G. So it wasn't like I was in the dark ages... more the late 19th Century.

I work in IT. I know how to do this shit. I did ALL the tests. Different cables/micro filters/configs/etc. I knew pretty much from the off that it had to be the router though. The wireless strangeness, for one. The LED lights that LIED, for another. And lies make The Baby Jesus cry. It was obviously an evil router and it needed CASTING TO THE FLAMES.... or well, you know, replacing with a new one.

I put on my best patient head and RANG SKY CUSTOMER SERVICES!

I started from the stand point of being an IT professional and listed all the things I had tried and said I was pretty sure it was my router. The girl on the other end of the phone still asked me to try a couple of things. I did them (again), as I too support people and sometimes you have to humour the person who is helping you, just in case you've made a stupid mistake. After 20 minutes she confirmed that it was a technical issue that needed escalating. I asked to be escalated. She said someone would be in touch within 72 hours. Sigh.

Two days later I got a text from Sky telling me to ring them when I was at home. I was at work. And had plans that night. I left it and went to the pub. The next day I got a more pushy text telling me to ring them when I was at home. That's a first for me. Customer services hassling me to get in touch to help fix an issue.

I got home from work and rang the number given. I got a very condescending bloke who interrupted me telling him my thoughts on the problem to tell me he would be the judge of the issue and started ordering me to try plugging various things in. Fortunately I was on the landline and around then accidentally pulled on the wrong wire and disconnected the phone. Whoops! I had to ring back and got a much more people-savy woman. I explained what I had done and I said it was the router and could they send a new one. She said she understood, but still needed to take some steps to test the line and things. Again, I jumped through a few hoops to satisfy the person trying to help me. I did point out that all the line tests in the world wouldn't fix the dodge wireless on the router. She agreed, but said she was technical help for the connection and would like to make sure that wasn't also at fault. Made sense. She helpfully rang me back on my mobile so I could unplug things and not have to worry about plugging/unplugging phones, or having landline phones interfering with things.

After an hour; 3 phone calls; me finding out that only 1 of the 3 phone sockets in my house is actually connected to anything resembling a phone line; she finally came to a conclusion... 

"I think your router is broke........... that was the first thing you said to me wasn't it?"

It was.

She then said it would be £35, plus £2 postage, for a new one. I swore. I said if she couldn't provide the equipment for a service I was paying them for I would find someone else. I'm sure Virgin would give me what I needed. I then remembered I'd just signed up for a year contract for SkyHD. Bollocks! So I could only take my broadband and phone. It was Friday and I had been on the phone on and off for an hour. I don't like being on the phone. I'd had enough. £37 didn't seem an insurmountable sum to end this call and have some tea and a beer. But then something else occurred to me...

"What if it turns out I'm wrong and it's not the router. I'll have spent £37 on something that didn't solve the issue?"

She said in that case they would refund the money and I could return the router. I think she sensed my will weakening, as she then offered to wave the £2 postage too.

I caved and got my wallet out.

I quite liked the fact that I didn't need to read all the numbers from my card out loud. I just needed to enter them on my phone keypad and it went into their system. First time I've done that.

Today a router arrived. Well actually, they tried to deliver it while I was at work and Sharon (bless her) went to pick it up from the Post Office depot after work. I got home and plugged it all in. Within minutes we had working broadband again. And bonus, the new router is an N, so has a greater range and reaches the Wii in the extension.

Told you it was the router.

Fucking Phones!

I HATE having a mobile phone. Fucking hate it! I hate it so much that I have three of the fuckers! Fucking THREE phones!!! So obviously, I LOVE having a mobile phone too. 

There are three things to address here:

1. Why do I have three mobile phones?

2. Why do I LOVE having a mobile phone?

3. Why do I HATE having a mobile phone?

Might as well break those three things down into headings.  Here goes:

1. Why do I have three mobile phones?

I have three mobile phones for the usual reason that people have more than one mobile phone. Firstly, I have my nice shiny personal iPhone 4. It is my main phone. It is white and pretty and shiny. It is my connection to my life. Secondly, I have my company HTC Wildfire S. I need to be contacted on the go, or out of office hours, for work and I am loathed to give out my personal number, so I have a company mobile. I also support the company mobile phones, so it is worth having one of the phones that people use so I am familiar with it. Thirdly, I have my old iPhone 3GS with a pay-as-you-go SIM card in it. I carry this with me when I go for a run or go out on my bike. Nice to be able to ring someone if I fall off and snap my leg. Also nice that it's not my shiny iPhone 4, in case falling off causes me to snap my phone. It's good too that only Sharon has the number, so I am out of touch with the world at large when out for a bit of exercise.

2. Why do I LOVE having a mobile phone?

I love having a mobile phone because we live in the information age and a phone is more than just a phone these days. It is your connection to that information. I can check emails; tweet; facebook; surf the internets and more, all from a convenient device which sits rather easily IN MY POCKET! If I'm a bit bored I can have a conversation with someone on Twitter without any effort. It is a marvel that we have all gotten used to very quickly.

3. Why do I HATE having a mobile phone?

The first part of this is not hate, it's a mild irk. It is the fact that I LOVE having this connection to the world so much. I now spend a lot of time checking this device to see what people I know, and don't know, are up to. I used to read a lot. Approximately a book a week. I now spend a large portion of the time I used to spend reading, looking at my phone. I probably average more like a book a month now. As I said, it is only a mild irk though, because if I HATED that so much, I would just put my phone down and pick up a book.

The real reason for my HATRED is the being reachable ALL THE FUCKING TIME for someone to talk to you! The thing I HATE about a mobile phone is the phone part. I am not a talking person. I don't do small talk and I CAN'T FUCKING STAND talking on the telephone. Most phone conversations I have are out of absolute necessity and last less than a minute. Just long enough to get across whatever information is needed. If I can do it by text instead, I will. But I will not get drawn into a text conversation either. It's almost as bad. That beep. That intrusion into your life. I'm eating my tea/watching Star Trek/staring into space, go away! Sharon's phone beeps about once a minute with a text and I don't know how she doesn't launch her phone across the room? Come to that, I don't know how I don't either? If someone texts me more than twice in a short space of time I start saying "OH FOR FUCKS SAKE!" every time it beeps. No matter how much I love the person on the other end.

If a phone rings then, oh Jesus Christ, what a nightmare. If my work phone rings, I answer it and it's not usually so bad. It's part of my job and the person on the other end has an IT problem they need fixing and it's a usually a very quick, functional phone call. Light on the small talk, usually none.

If the landline rings at home and I am in the house alone I begrudgingly answer it. Sometimes I don't. Sometimes I let the machine get it and see what the person says. I get it because I don't know who is ringing. It may be my Mum/Dad/Nan/Sharon's Mum/Dad and it may be important. If Sharon is in, I say, "It's for you" and let her get it. It quite often is for me though and as it's the landline it's usually one of three people. My Mum; my Dad or my Nan. They usually have an IT problem they want me to look at and, as with work, it's usually a quick call because it's functional. There will be a bit of catching up, but my family aren't really phone people either, so it's minimal. If it's someone trying to sell me something they get told to "Fuck off and don't call again" in no uncertain terms.

If my mobile rings... I look at it as if the person on the other end has decided to take a SHIT in my MOUTH, rather than nicely talk to me. I HATE my mobile phone ringing. If it's a blocked number, then great. IGNORE! If it's someone I know though, I have an internal struggle with what to do. Why are they ringing? Why don't they just text or email me? This is the 21st Century after-all. Should I just ignore it? I don't. I love my friends, despite not really wanting to talk to them on the phone, so I answer it. If the person on the other end has an IT problem and they quickly want some advice, then it's not so bad. We have a quick functional phone call on our hands. BUT... If they say THOSE words. Those words I dread to hear more than any other on the phone. Those words that make me just want to die. "Hi. I just called for a chat." OH. GOD. NO. I hate "chatting". I don't do small talk. And I REALLY don't do small talk on the phone, where you can't read people as well. Without their face to go off it can be hard work. You know that about me. Why are you ringing me? How do people do that? Sit and talk on the phone for AGES. Some people talk for over an hour. How? If I see the timer on my phone has clocked more than about 4 minutes I think, "Jesus, that was a long phone call". Work, is different. Sometimes I have to spend half an hour talking someone through something. It's just the way it goes. But it's not chatting, so it's not so bad. Anyway, back to my mobile ringing. If you don't answer the call because you suspect it's a "chat", or you just missed the call, then they leave a voicemail saying, "Hi. Just call me back when you get a chance". Then you have to MAKE a phonecall for a chat. You can't ignore it because it's your friend and you love them. And they will KNOW you have ignored their call. That's why I HATE mobile phones. You can't get away. Even if you try, it's only a delay. They will always know. And you will always have to have that phone call.

So, this is the thing. I've made a decision. It's my life and I can do what I like with it. If something makes me unhappy and feel trapped then... I DON'T HAVE TO DO IT! I can take what I like from the devices I have and leave the bits I don't like. The decision is this. Line in the sand. I don't answer the phone any more. If you ring me, don't expect me to pick it up. If you leave me a voice mail, don't expect me to return the call. We can text/email the required info or if you need to tell me something, leave the voicemail. I'll listen to it... If it's for a chat, send me an email and I'll get back to you in my own time, or (I'm not totally dead inside) let's meet for a pint or something and chat face to face. I love you, it's not that I don't want to talk to you, it's your chosen method of communication with me I don't I like. I know this is my issue, but tough, you know what you signed up for when befriending me. I'm a bit of a moody twat and I've never hidden that.

There are obvious exceptions to this rule. They are: Work. I'm not about to stop answering the phone at work (as much as I would like to), I would get in trouble and may ultimately lose my job. It's just part of the role and I can handle that; Sharon. She is my wife. Get out of jail free card. I answer the phone to her. Always; My parents and my Nan. Same as wife.

Everyone else. Sorry. Nothing personal. It's just not for me. So if you know me and want to communicate with me, send me a text/email/tweet/facebook and I'll get back to you. Or we can have a pint.

Tat-Who?

About 10 years ago I decided to get a tattoo.  I had wanted a tattoo for ages, but was never really sure what I wanted. I am a MASSIVE Beatles fan. One morning I drew this and went into Manchester to get it tattooed on my actual body. Forever. It was an impulsive decision.

This is what I ended up with. 

It's more of a caricature of what I drew. I liked it because of what it represented. I was never totally happy with the rendering of what I asked for though. I spent a lot of time putting it out of my mind. It's not nice to be unhappy with something on your body. Especially something you have put there. Forever.

Over the past couple of years the buried unhappiness has made its way to the forefront of my mind. Sharon has mentioned maybe getting something done to improve it. I found out you can tattoo a tattoo over the top of a tattoo and revitalise/improve/replace a tattoo that you already have tattooed. 

I decided I would get something more generic over the top. If it's not meant to look like a person, then it can't not look like the person. It doesn't mean my love of The Beatles has waned, just that my love of this tattoo isn't all it should be. I've always liked the Maori style tattoos. A swirly pattern of the Maori/Celtic variety just has to flow nice and it is cool. It doesn't have to look like John Lennon.

I like doodling and drawing swirly pointy things. I've drawn a couple of things on and off to be a new tattoo. I'd never really worked out how to cover John.

Recently I decided to seriously commit to sorting out a design for a coverup tattoo. And to stick with it until I had something I was happy to get tattooed on my arm forever. Then go and get it tattooed on my arm forever.

Sharon traced over my tattoo with a tissue. Here is a scan of the resulting trace.

It didn't need to be a perfect copy. It just needed to show the area taken by the tattoo so I had something to work with. She did that perfectly. The next thing was to make that a piece of paper I could draw over. I cleaned the scan up and sketched over it and ended up with this.

The next step was to design something over the top of it. I had looked at lots and lots and lots of pictures of tattoos on the internets. I quite liked Maori style and even saw one as a coverup. It was a large area of black, but done to incorporate some Maori swirls around it. It was an obvious coverup, but it looked cool too. I sketched something over John.  It was this.

It just flowed in one and I liked it straight away.  It obviously needed work, but was a good start. I drew it again, but neater and with some refinement. Here.

Cool. How would it look in actual black black? Rather than pencil. Not a lot of pencil tattoos last very long. Ink (injected under the skin) is the key to a tattoo that doesn't rub off.

Looking good, but I wasn't quite happy with the big circle of BLACK in the middle. It is an obvious attempt at a coverup. I wondered if I could put other colours over as well. I did a bit of research. It was certainly possible. I started doodling some red swirls on there.

I liked the red boomerang type shape on the left, but wasn't so happy with what I had done on the right. I sketched some other circular shapes on the bottom of the page. The sun type one looked ok.  I drew it up a bit neater.

Done. Exactly as I pictured, but the red didn't flow through the entire design. It looked like an afterthought. It was an afterthought. I tried putting red in other places over the whole design.

Better. There was a consistent theme throughout the whole design. Although that big block of red triangle needed breaking up. I drew it again, in what I thought was the FINAL piece, and added some black lines across the red. Reminiscent of the lines at the bottom. As I got to the sun bit I decided I really didn't like that after all. It didn't flow with the rest of the design. It needed something else there. I just didn't know what.  I tried to design on the fly, on the FINAL VERSION. It went wrong. I got angry and just doodled shit on there in a way I wouldn't do on the FINAL VERSION because that would be too risky. Bollocks to it. It got a bit uneven so I put swirls in and was just about to ditch it when.... Hang on. If I repeat that swirl again there and there. FUCKING HELL.... I really like that. Here is the actual "gone wrong" version drawn OVER the sun.

I showed it to Sharon. She said she liked it but thought that the red boomerang thing on the left was a little too much. I looked at it with fresh eyes. I agreed. Too many lines going on. Good spot Sharon. She suggested losing the outside red line and then making the black bit red. I said that was complicated and it would be better (easier) to just lose the inner bit and make it black. She didn't agree. I didn't care. I did what I said. Like this.

It looked shit. I started again and did what she said.

Good call wife. I wasn't happy with the bottom bit of the boomerang though. It didn't flow right, in my mind, with the white triangle below it. I woke Sharon up in the early hours and put her glasses on her sleepy face and tried to explain this with pointing and diagrams. Surprisingly she didn't get what I was saying. Or care. I decided to just draw it again and try and rectify it. Like this.

Better huh? At the risk of repeating myself in a way that you won't see, like Sharon couldn't see. The boomerang thing and the white triangles flow in a way that looks that could be from one shape. You see? No. Sharon neither, but I do and it's going on my arm.

I had done this last alteration in Photoshop. I slipped with the brush tool and accidently put a black dot on the red. DAMN IT! Actutally.... I liked it. I put some more in a line. I got this.

Looking about done. Or so I thought. A quick chat to a tattoo artist prompted some thicker red lines in the boomerang thing. Thinner red lines surrounded by a lot of black are likely to blur into each other in time.

Here is the FINAL VERSION.

Next I needed to find a tattoo artist I was happy to draw on my arm in a way that wouldn't wash off in the shower... FOREVER! I looked at lots of places on the internet and came to two conclusions. 

1. The artist was drawing my design. Their designs didn't matter THAT much. Of course they mattered, as an artist will always put something of themselves into anything they produce. 

2. What REALLY mattered was good execution of tattooing and a steady hand.

Basically I needed to see photos of previous work, especially in the style of my design, and see if it flowed in a way I would be happy with.

I asked on Facebook/Twitter for some ideas of local places to go and also did some Googling. After eliminating some, by looking at photos of their work and it not being what I was after, I got it down to 2 people/places I wanted to go.

I went to the first (actually my second choice, but closer to where I had parked) and showed my design and existing tattoo. He said it would certainly be possible to cover it, however there may be a little shadowing through the red. He suggested adding darker colours into the red.

I went to the second (the place I liked the look of the most) and showed my design and existing tattoo. He said it would certainly be possible to cover it, however there may be a little shadowing through the red. He suggested getting it done and then if there was shadowing he would go over the red again, free of charge, and that should eliminate it.

I liked the second answer best. It meant not changing my design. I quickly tried putting darker colours in. I didn't like it nearly as much. I decided to go for the second place and go for the design, as is, and if there was shadowing to get the red redone. If I still wasn't happy I could then address adding darker colours over the areas of the shadows I was unhappy with. If I was happy, then ACES, I was happy.

I booked an appointment, with the second place (Skin Graffiti on Rochdale Road in Bury), to get A FOREVER DRAWING ON MY ARM!

A couple of weeks passed and the BIG DAY arrived. A Saturday. Sharon and I made our way to the tattoo place for the arranged 2pm. Andy (my tattooist) was running behind so we lazed about on the comfy couch in the shop for 45 minutes until he was ready. He called me through. 

Here we go.

He did the expected things of preparing the area, by shaving it and cleaning it with alcohol. Everything looked suitably clean and I was happy. He got the transfer and put it on my arm. Just the purple lines looked aces.

I was happy with the positioning, so it was time to start getting repeatedly jabbed with an inky needle.

And we're off.

No, that's not Wayne Rooney. It's Andy, the very cool tattoo artist.  Sharon got bored, probably because I didn't look like I was in pain, and went for a wander around Bury. I sat chatting to ex-programmer, pinball enthusiast, ace tattoo artist, Andy, for a couple of hours, while he drew on me in what was (best once described by my mate Dave) bearable pain. Some bits hurt more than others. Some bits didn't hurt at all. After a couple of hours even the most painful bits were totally fine. You just get used to it. There was a nice moment when someone brought me a brew and I felt very English. Sat there, GETTING TATTOOED... and drinking a nice cup of tea. Unfortunately Sharon didn't capture this image.

There isn't a great deal to say about the rest of the process. It's just a lot of sitting and chatting and waiting. The hardest thing about it is sitting still for hours. Eventually it was done and I paid my money. First port of call... well, actually, it was Superdrug for some coco-butter to put on it. That was the top tip recommendation by the artist. Second port of call... the pub, for a well earned pint.

I had CLEVERLY worn a white t-shirt for this expedition in body art. It was lose fitting on my arm was my thinking. My thinking was not of BLOOD! In the pub I noticed a patch of red on my sleeve. Closer inspection showed it was running down my arm. Whoops. I went to the bar and asked for some of the blue paper towels they use. The barman, Martin, said it wasn't a problem and wandered round the bar. He walked straight out of the other side towards my table with a CLOTH! I shouted him and made my away across the pub and explained why I needed the towel. He insisted on seeing the tattoo. So I looked like one of those pricks who lifts his sleeve up in a pub to show off his new, bloody, cling film covered, tattoo. He went and got me a wad of toilet roll instead. I will be clear here. I wasn't using bog roll on my actual OPEN WOUND. Just to mop up any blood that ran down my arm. I'm not a total mental.

After the pint we went home and I removed the cling film. Held on by SELLOTAPE! That hurt about as much as the tattoo. A quick wash and coat of coco-butter and we have the nearly finished article. Here is the moment you've all been waiting for. The actual tattoo on my actual arm. It will need a bit of a touch-up job in a couple of weeks where the old tattoo is shadowing through the red. But this is it pretty much done.

Smile.... DING!

That's what used to happen when I went to the dentist. I would smile and there would be a cartoon "DING!" sound and a flash of light would be reflected from my teeth. Metaphorically speaking at least. I've never minded going to the dentist. I have friends who are TERRIFIED. Me, I always wondered what the fuss was about. 

I have been going to the same dentist for nearly 25 years. I am only (only?!) 32 years old, so that is pretty much continual coverage. I have never had any real problems. I broke my front tooth when I was 6 and needed the nerve removed and then a decade of temporary caps and things on it. Once I was 17 it was properly capped. Apart from that, nothing much. I've had no fillings. No toothache. No problems with the dentist.

My dentist is Dr Lea. He is a really nice bloke. Every 6 months for nearly 25 years my appointments have typically gone like this.

Dr Lea: Hello Craig. That time again.

Me: Yep.

Dr Lea: Any problems?

Me: No, nothing.

Dr Lea: Good, good. Let's have a look then.

Me: Ahhhhhhhhhhh 

(2 mins later)

Dr Lea: Ok. Good. Those wisdom teeth are coming through at a bit of an angle, but they don't seem to be causing any problems. They are useless and if they are causing no discomfort then we can ignore them.

Me: Nope. They're fine.

Dr Lea: Great. See you in 6 months.

Me: Thank you. See you then.

We both had it down. We knew what to expect and what to say when. They was no pain and no issues. It was just a 5 minute chat with a friendly bloke who prodded about in my mouth for a short portion of the time. Great.

Until now...

I've just had my usual 6 monthly check up. I got there and was told that Dr Lea had been forced to take long term sick and had effectively retired. He has some sort of nerve problem with his hands. He's had it for years and it has been treatable. Recently the treatment has stopped working and other treatments aren't helping either. This means his hands, especially his right, shake. Not a good condition for a dentist. So he's had to stop being a dentist. Very sad. He was a great dentist. I was told that, after 25 years of the same dentist, I had a new dentist. Ok. Can't be helped. I walked in and a young woman introduced herself as my new dentist. I said hello and sat down for business as usual. I was sure she'd learn her part of the script quickly enough.

I opened my mouth and she prodded about. She finished and I waited for the "Good. See you in 6 months" line. 

New Dentist: Do you grind your teeth?

Me: No.

ND: Your lower teeth are very flat.

Me: Thank you.

ND: No. It's a sign of you grinding your teeth in your sleep. We'll have to keep an eye on that and maybe do something about it. You wake up with sore jaws yes?

Me: Nope never.

ND: Oh ok. We'll keep an eye on it.... Right, you need to brush much better too.

Me: Ok.

ND: And you have two teeth which will need fillings. Book in for a 40 minute appotinment and we will do them.

Me: Whoa. What?

ND: The back. They must give you issues. Open your mouth (I did) THIS one especially (As she said "THIS" she pressed really hard into one of my back teeth with the scrapy sharp prongy thing. No pain at all. But I could tell she was trying to prove a point with pain).

Me: No. Nothing.

ND: But they are sensitive to cold and hot foods though.

Me: No. I've never had tooth ache or pain.

ND: Ok. Book in for a 40 minute appointment to fill them. It's only £30. An extra £90 a tooth if you want a white filling. See you then.

Me (A bit shell shocked):  Ok. Bye.

I booked in for the appointment in April. I'm not sure I'm going to keep it. If it's not broke, don't fix it. I can't see how I can go from 25 years of good dental health to a bollocking and (MY FIRST) two fillings. You could say that Dr Lea was seeing how things went. But for 25 years? And to never mention anything? I don't think so. He's a good dentist. He's mentioned my wisdom teeth. And that my cap will need replacing as my gum has receded a bit. But only when/if it becomes an issue.

I don't like my new dentist. She has made me not like dentists in a 5 minute appointment. I got home and told Sharon. She pointed out that if I grinded my teeth she would know about it and would whack me one to shut up grinding my teeth. A very good point. On arriving home my opening words to Sharon actually were, "I don't like my new dentist. I hope she gets hit by a bus on the way home!" Harsh I know. I don't hope that. I don't wish anyone that. I have since downgraded it to "I hope she stubs her toe. Quite hard! But with no lasting damage." And I do. I really do.

I still haven't decided what I'm going to do about letting her hack away at my teeth though.

The Dollar Goes Home

I got this in a card from a friend for my wedding. One of the things we had asked for, presents wise, was Dollars to spend on our honeymoon in New York and Hawaii. I didn't have the heart to spend it and so took it on my honeymoon, but kept it separate and took pictures of it wherever we went. These are those pictures...

The story

NYC!

Arty with the skyline

Dreaming of a beverage

With Brooklyn Bridge

With Lady Liberty

On Wall Street

HOME!

RAGING BULL!

Enjoying a tasty meal

AIRCRAFT CARRIER!

Chilling in Central Park

Going underground...

ROOOOAARRRRR!!! T-REX!

In an Irish bar

HAWAII!!!

Enjoying the view from the balcony

A catamaran 

Getting lei'ed

Getting LOST!

Chilling with family

Always Wear Gloves... and other safety tips

A few weeks ago I got home from work and Sharon walked into the hall. How nice, my wife had come to greet me home. She usually sits watching a crap Australian soap and grunts. Sometimes she will greet me by sighing when I start talking, pause her programme and put on her best pretending to be listening face. Anyway, this time she had come to greet me. She pointed over my head to my left. Not a typical greeting. I looked at where she was indicating. A damp patch on the wall. Fuck! Not ANOTHER one! We've had lots of problems with damp in places we've lived. I did some investigation and it could have been one of a number of things. The list is long and varied:

• The flat roof of the extension could be leaking.
• The pointing on the gable end is FUCKING RUBBISH!
• The point where the flat roof meets the wall and the porch roof is a mishmash of flashing.
• The flue for the boiler through that wall.
• The gas pipe and water overflow pipe for the boiler through that wall.
• The electrical output for the garage through that wall.
• The boiler leaking.

Why did it have to be that wall? That wall has lots of things going in/out/on/along-side it. Sharon's Dad is a plumber. He checked out the boiler and all looked fine.  Besides, it only seemed to leak on a windy rainy day. The flat roof looked ok. The most obvious (and easiest to fix) thing was the gas/water/cable going through the wall. The sealing was rubbish and it looked a bit wet. I needed daylight and a dry day. Not easy in winter when you work. Fortunately my Dad was available on the following Monday and he put some bitumen mastic and some stick-on flashing over them and it was nicely sealed. Good job Dad.  The damp started to fade. Phew. We decided to see how it went.

Christmas Day came. We got home from visiting family and friends and, as was now becoming habit, as we walked in we glanced up at the wall. Damp again. BOLLOCKS! "Ah well, it's Christmas Day, we'll worry about it another day." Another day came and it was VERY WINDY AND RAINY. Sharon walked into the extension. On the way she splashed through a puddle. She shouted me and I came running and jabbed at the light switch to get a better look at what was going on. "Yep. That's a bloody big puddle on the floor and water is running down the wall and.... OH SHIT!!!" BUZZZZZ... FIZZZZZ.... The light switch I just turned on was pissing water everywhere. "How am I not a twitching dead man?!". I decided to go for a quick jog to the distribution board. DAMN IT! I still hadn't got round to labelling what switch turned off what power and where. That should have been done, BY LAW, by the people who fitted it for the last owners. I hit the master switch and turned all the power off. I got a screw driver and took the cover off the light switch. WATER EVERYWHERE!!! I did what any man would have done in this situation... I panicked and rang my Dad.  He came round and we watched the less than calming water fall for a bit. We decided the most obvious and easy next thing (deny the expensive pointing option) was the mish mash of crappy flashing in the corner where lots of things meet. We did a bodge with tarpaulin. I worked out which breaker turned off the lighting in the extension by using the age old practice of turning each one on in turn until I could hear the magical sound of water and electricity buzzing. I think that's how a professional does it too. I went one better and labelled everything by continuing this trial and error system of switching one off and working out what's not on. It looks highly professional now. Ok, so 2 of the breakers have ? written under them. I have absolutely NO IDEA what wasn't on when they were off. But I'm sure that's normal.

The next step was to buy some more stick on flashing and use that, along with the bitumen mastic, to make the mishmash of meeting bits of roof and walls a watertight masterpiece. I just needed a dry day that was not a work day. That day turned out to be TODAY! Ok, so it was windy as a bastard, but that was unlikely to be a problem really. I went to B&Q and got the flashing. On my return home Sharon noticed more water, this time upstairs in the bay window on the landing. That has a little flat roof over. "No problem wife. I have flashing and bitumen. I will seal that too." I am a man!  RAAAAAARRGGGHHHH!!! 

Sorry, where was I? Yes, about to climb on the flat roof. On a very windy day. Sharon went to watch a netball tournament and made me promise not to fall. A promise I intended to keep. I set about slapping bitumen all over the corner and did a very good (messy) job of it. I then cut up the flashing and, considering the wind direction and where the overlaps should be, stuck it all over the potential problem corner. A bit of extra bitumen slopped onto the seams and it was done. I also sealed around the boiler flue. Not a bad job and it only took me half an hour. Good blokey DIY skills Tonka. I looked at my hands and thought I probably should have worn gloves as I had bitumen on them. Ah well. I then figured I would cut a couple of decent pieces of the flashing and stick them across the mini flat roof over the bay. It's only about 3 foot wide and it's a triangle. I walked over to it. It's about 7 foot off the flat roof. I couldn't reach it. I found, if I opened the window, I could pull myself up and lean backwards holding myself up with one hand whilst doing the work with the other hand. It has 2 seams on it, so I figured a piece of flashing for each. I did the smaller piece first and it was not a problem. The second seam is against the wall and it required a little more of a struggle. I needed to bend the existing flashing up and put a long piece across and push it back down. EASY... with two hands.... stood on solid ground...... on a calm day. On a windy day, whilst hanging out of a window over a roof, it was more difficult. There were 2 moments that stick in my mind. Both involved gusts of wind. The first blew the sticky flashing out of my hand and sent it sailing off the roof and onto the drive. I shouted "NOOOOOOO!", just in time for my neighbour to be outside and see me hanging out of a window in the wind and watch this unfold. I considered just cutting a new piece, but climbed back in and retrieved the piece from the drive. It had (SOMEHOW) landed sticky side up. It's not toast see. I climbed back up and manoeuvred it into place. It was too short. I needed to cut a new piece anyway. Bollocks! It was now that the second moment occurred. A HUGE gust of wind blew, but this time it didn't catch the flashing. It. Caught. Me. There was a definite hour long half a second of me thinking, "I'm falling backwards onto the flat roof, please don't let me go through it... or off it". I managed to drop everything and grab on and pull myself back inside and had the pleasant experience of worrying about falling head first down the stairs instead. Fortunately I didn't do that either. With my heart racing I set about cutting a second piece of flashing. And this time I measured it. With a bit of manipulation and a lot of swearing whilst battling against the wind, with what was essentially a sticky metal and tar sail, I managed to get it in place. I touched up the seams with mastic and congratulated myself on a job, not well done, but done all the same.

I looked at my hands. They were completely black with bitumen. "Yeah, probably should have worn those gloves. I'm sure it'll wash off in the shower." I got in the shower and started washing my hands. It was slowly coming off. Nice one. I looked down. It was in the bath. And I was stepping on it. It was smearing. All. Over. The Bath. FUUUUUUCCCKKKK!!! I briefly pictured the bollocking Sharon would give me when she got home and saw I had destroyed the bath, and leapt out. I soakedly struggled back into my trousers and ran downstairs for the bucket with all the bathroom cleaning stuff in it. I sprayed and rubbed at the bath. It was kind of coming off, but I was also adding to it. "THINK GOD DAMN IT!... First things first. Spray some of that bath cleaner shit all over the bath. Go and wash my hands in the kitchen sink. THEN clean the bath." I did this and managed to get my hands clean. The bath was another matter. It mostly came off, but some places it just wouldn't. More mental images of my bollocking from the wife. "JIF!!!" I refuse to call it Cif. What the actual fuck?! "Of course. It will do it! It cleans anything!" I got the Jif and poured it liberally. It was mostly working with the sponge, but with the old toothbrush that Sharon uses for the tiles it REALLY worked. Only very slowly, as a toothbrush is quite small. It's meant for cleaning teeth, not baths. Teeth are small. Baths are big. Still, it was working. 20 minutes later it was still working. 30 minutes later the bath was clean. I breathed easy once more.

Today I learned 4 things.

1. I hate water getting into my house more than ever.

2. Going up on the roof on a windy day is FUCKING SCARY!

3. Wear gloves when doing messy shit.
4. If I don't wear gloves when doing messy shit, wash my hands in the kitchen sink.

The worst thing is that probably still won't fix the leak. I will need to start getting quotes for the whole gable end to be re-pointed. That will be a ball ache of a job. And will also be quite costly.

The saga continues...