“Why is the floor all wet out here?” I peered over my daughter’s shoulder into the bathroom. It was flooded. Soap and grit lay on the white gloss tiles. Daughter was about to shower. She shrugged her shoulder’s, saying sympathetically, “I’ll just go check out Facebook for a while then”.
It is so hot and exhausting in Portugal at the moment I was tempted to see if the water would just evaporate.
It was my fault after all. We’ve been in England for three weeks. I’d foolishly got used to normal life so on our first morning back I switched on the washing machine, just as though normal life resumed in our little house in Portugal too. I’d completely forgotten that the waste pipe still ran through a hole in the pipe and into the bath. Unless you are having a bath or shower in which case you pop it into the bidet. Unless the bidet has a paint tray and roller balanced on top in which case you leave the pipe dangling over the side onto the floor. I’d had a shower.
I know, we need to get the plumbing done. We’re trying to do things in order, so when the floors have been tiled we can get the kitchen fitted along with a bathroom upstairs and hence the plumber can enter on stage right. Meanwhile on stage left, I have spent the morning with mop and sponge, looking forward to the day when my daughter has grown into a fully rounded adult who will grab the mop out of my hand and do the task for me while mother, reclaiming her youth, goes on Facebook.