Wednesday, 11 January 2012

Water off a daddy's face

I had a stinker of a night last night when, once again, my manly abilities were exposed for what they are: non-existent.  I'll try to keep this short.

Jamie and Charlotte were about to have their bath and I noticed that the radiator in the bathroom was cold at the top.

It was time for me to get my bleeding key (or f***ing key, as I was to call it shortly afterwards).  I gave the little screw thing a twist, the radiator spurted large amounts of smelly wind and dirty water all over my face - and, bingo, it immediately heated up.

What a guy!

So I rushed downstairs to tell Jamie it was time for Bob The Builder to hand over his hard hat because I was the new Mr Fixit in town.

"Wow!" purred Jamie, and he was right.  I was magnificent.  A true hero. A man amongst metrosexuals.

What a guy!

And then I heard a wail from upstairs.  It was Vanessa.

"There's no hot water!"  Oh.  Oh dear. Oh dear, oh dear.

So I checked the boiler.  It had turned itself off.  Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear.

An hour and a half later, boiler manuals, torch and screw driver in hand, I finally managed to get it working and the water was hot. 

I was great once again - what a guy!

Then, about 20 minutes later, I checked the radiator in the kitchen.   It was cold.  So too were the radiators in the living room and the hall.

Meanwhile, whilst not exactly hot, all of the upstairs radiators were working.

I spent another half an hour poking at the boiler and then an hour on Google trying to work out why, in our house, it was warm high and cold low.  By the end, I was none the wiser.

I left things overnight but, first thing this morning, there was no other option. It was time to call for Mr Water (also known as Mark). 

And by 10.30, our central heating system was working better than ever.

According to Mr Water, the boiler went off as a result of my overbleeding the system and starving it of water.

And although I got things going again by putting more water in, I hadn't tightened the screws properly afterwards.  Oh, and I pretty much wrecked the screws too after using the wrong screwdriver.

As he left (with 35 of my quids in his pocket) Mr Water gave me two pieces of advice:

  1. Don't ever touch the screws on the boiler again
  2. Actually, forget 1 -  don't ever touch the boiler again.    
Thankfully Jamie wasn't there when this sharp piece of guidance was issued to me, so will hopefully retain just a semblance of admiration for what he thought I did last night.

But I can barely look in the mirror.

What a guy.