I am blamed for everything. The ex knocks over a cup of coffee, before I even draw breath, its –
“This is your fault! If you did as I asked this wouldn’t have happened!”
If something breaks it’s,
“You touched it last, ergo you broke it. It’s your fault!”
(The ex has never used ‘ergo’, but I just wanted to. It’s a fun word. Ergo. There, I feel so posh.)
Who the invented this rule? The you-touched-it-last-so-it-must-be-your-fault rule.
Leo is no exception. When I stayed in his girlfriends room for a couple of weeks, (nudge nudge wink wink) I had to sleep with the blinds permanently up from day one (I couldn’t bring them down and Leo’s woman had some drapery across the top, very pretty, so I just didn’t bother). I reported this to Leo who responded with
“Well I touched them last and they were working fine. You must have done something!”
Anyway I digress, that’s not quite the subject of this post.
So the boiler conked out a couple of weeks ago (it was my fault, of course)
I was assigned the task of finding a plumber – I spent about 2 hours over 2 days, during my lunch break sifting though the mire of the internet & many calls, (what a fucking waste of time) until I finally found a plumber who charged £65 per hr.
Now, does that seem extortionate? Well it sure is, but it’s about £15 under the average rate of a heart-stopping £80 per hr.
(Side note: I should have trained to be a plumber, not an artist. Who the fuck needs an illustrator? Nobody. They say, be a lawyer, doctor, banker, vet, but I bet you don’t have to spend 10 years studying to be a plumber. Although, I did once get paid £200 pounds for a drawing of a dog. Which was pretty sweet).
Any hoo the ex self-diagnosed the problem as so-and-so but isn’t sure. The ex also didn’t train to be a plumber or electrician, but that doesn’t stop the ex from attempting to take apart the boiler, besides trying to take apart the washing machine which broke a month earlier (also my fault). I spent two hours of my evening watching the ex fiddle about with the machine machine, while I had to turn the fuses on and off. Two hours!
I mention this boiler self-diagnosis to all the plumbers I call. None of them agree to bring the part and all have a standard 1 hr call out fee regardless if they spend 5 mins in your house or the full hour.
Maybe I should have insisted they bring the part, maybe I need to be more ruthless and demanding.
But what the fuck do I know about parts? I’m an artist, not a fucking plumber. Central St. martins didn’t offer a short course on it. (They should)
So of course, I am then abused to everyone, about how my plumber was a chut (because he charged £65 and didn’t stay the full hr, and because I didn’t insist he bring the part in advance) and then the ex goes off and gets another plumber to come back (who charged £85 per hr!) and goes around telling everyone I (Capital I) got ripped off!!!
(I initially typed part of this post very loudly so the ex knew I was irate, also I’m going to use a lot of exclamation marks to fully express the depth of my feelings on this issue!)
Then the ex misplaced a little toilet-spray-hose-thing (bum shower) and says to me
“Your plumber was the only other person in here. Where else can it be? I left it right here on this window ledge. It couldn’t have fallen out. Your plumber must have taken it!”
My plumber? My Plumber?? When the fuck did he become My plumber? How is this my fault??
And my plumber did not steal the bum shower.
It got caught in the window blind somehow and I (capital I ) found it when I did something so amazing, so ingenious and so much like Mr. Sherlock Holmes that I was quite beside myself.
Yes, that’s right, I just looked behind the blind.
I. am. Sherlock. Holmes.
He was quite cute though. The plumber I mean. My plumber. (The ex’s plumber was a mutant). Not cute in a ‘model’ way, but he had very dark blue eyes and black hair. It’s good to know there are good-looking plumbers out there who are not fictional porn story-lines. Hmmm I’m sure I left the card around here somewhere….
I offered Monty the services of my good-looking plumber. Monty offered to go smash his kitchen sink pipe.
I suggested the boiler. Why not be through?