Friday, 5 September 2014


"It's not going to go away, you know."
"What isn't?"
"The water around the toilet. The leak or whatever it is. It's been there for a while."
"What? When did you first notice it?"
"Last week."

My parents threw me an exasperated look. To be fair, I hadn't given much thought to the microscopic amount of water on the bathroom floor which I'd found to be easily dealt with via a bit of paper towel. Indeed, as it was the bathroom, I'd expect it to be slightly damp, what with sink and toilet and weird space-age shower capsule thingy and everything that one may expect when one wishes to achieve wetness.

Or have wetness thrust upon them, but I'm not going to make that joke.

Half a day later, all the water was turned off and Mane's mum appeared at the front door brandishing a chemical toilet of the type one uses at camp. Cheerfully aware of exactly how to use one of these, I stomped through the garden to place it in the shed, which (in the absence of a perfectly rectangular tent pinched from the Scouts when they weren't looking) seemed like the perfect place to put it. The shed is out of the way, not inside a building (other than itself), and it's at the end of a stretch of grass - so you'll get dew on your cold, tired feet walking to it first thing in the morning (or in the middle of the night, which always seems to happen to me).

My dad wasn't keen on this idea, so he relocated it to the bathroom and sat it next to the real toilet.

I have a certain affection - if you can call it that - for chemical toilets, although they are essentially just a combination of bucket and Jeyes fluid, I've always found them something of a necessity if one wishes for a bit of self-induced sexual relief while at camp. However, I could tell that my parents weren't particularly happy with the (temporary) solution, so some genius hit upon the idea of using the toilet at my grandparents' house, which is about two minutes' walk away. The same genius also reminded everyone within earshot that he often needs to use the toilet, and that since there's only one key, he may as well be there to let people in.

So, yes, I did end up housesitting for my grandparents after all. For a day or so. Better than nothing, right?

We now have a toilet which doesn't leak (the reason, it turns out, was something to do with hungry rats) and a de-humidifier, which appears to be having zero effect on the bathroom floor but making everything in there toasty warm, on constantly, which'll be nice in the winter but perhaps not so much for the environment. Whether or not this, as opposed to a toilet tent on a campsite in Essex, is an adequate place to masturbate in is not exactly clear, but I'm certain that it's perfectly adequate.

However, I'm not particularly keen on exhausting myself in front of a dehumidifier. So, for the time being, I think I'll stick with my chair.

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