The Brothers decided to have an out of session meeting today – Thursday instead of Sunday. What the hell, it’s Christmas, we deserve a day off, we’ve worked hard all year, and if the boss doesn’t like it, ” go bile yrr heed” as the Scots are wont to say.
Life continues at it’s normal pace, things happen, people appear, other things happen and sometimes the toilet smashes into a thousand pieces.
Yep. There I was 8.00 pm in Brisbane on a Tuesday, asking my Boss where he wanted me to be in Sydney on Thursday. Newsflash!! Tomorrow! Oh bugger, bum, poop. Frantic reorganisation of airplane schedules.
Contemporaneously, Mrs Kipper puts her head around the door to the cave (my secret business room, computer, guitars, books etc) to tell me that the toilet was leaking from the cistern into the bowl. Oh frabjous day! So I got up from the computer went to the toilet and took the three kilo ceramic top off the cistern, placed it on the side shelf and used all my technical skills to fix the problem. Basically just waggled the centre bit around until the leak stopped. Success so far.
The Great Buddha of Buggery decided at this particular moment in the universe time system that I was unworthy and needed a reminder. As I went to replace the cistern top, it slipped from my hands, fell into the toilet bowl, smashing a great hole in the side and shattering into a thousand dagger-like shards, one of which cut my leg.
I remeber thinking about the incident, “Gee I wish that hadn’t happened.”
The upshot (upsh1t?) was Mrs Kipper had to cart me off to hospital, I needed six stitches in my leg, the crapper was uncrappable, or anything elseable for that matter and I still hadn’t booked my flights.
I did however manage to ring Will the plumber, who promised to come out the next day. As Mrs Kipper dropped me off at the airport, she moaned angrily, “What am I going to do in the meantime you bastard?”
“Just crapeau in your chapeau” I replied, cowardly running into the Qantas departure terminal, where there were enough witnesses to deter her from dismembering me on the spot.
If you’re in Brisbane, and need your toilet fixed, call this bloke – he’s great.
The Moral of the Story
Don’t cut your own hair – Forrest Gump
Don’t make your own airplane – John Denver
Don’t try to fix your own toilet – BillyK
Filed under: Great Tales, Random Stuff
BillyK you have excelled yourself! Had a couple of out-loud snorts of laughter at your plight (sorry about the leg though), and could clearly see the whole farce unfolding. (Just as well you live adjacent to bushland — presume Mrs BillyK pretended she was camping during the toilet-free 24 hrs before the plumber righted your wrong.)