Friday, 15 November 2013

Forgetting the bleeding obvious

I haven't had a shower today (although, for the record, I have changed my pants).

Yes, I'm a smellbag and it's all my fault. 

Last night, with winter closing in, I decided the time had come to bleed our radiators.

So I got my little key out and, as they say in dearest Coleraine, I footered.

I'm such a powerhouse that I couldn't actually manage to turn the little nut thing in all of the radiators downstairs.  But the ones I did manage to crank open seemed OK to my layman's eye.  Well done me. 

Then I went upstairs and had a bash at the bathroom radiator.  Now, as I understand it, you're supposed to let any air out until you get a little spit of water, and then you stop.  The radiators downstairs let little or no air out.  But the bathroom radiator seemed to have enough puff in it to fill a hot air balloon.

I didn't feel overly concerned by this unexpected development, particularly as some water did finally present itself. 

Next was Jamie's room and, again, it seemed to have much more air in it than warmth.  A bit like Victoria Beckham, you might say. 

In fact, a good two minutes later, the gas was still shooting out.  And then it stopped - but no water followed.  Nothing, nada, nuke.

This did concern me a little more, so I bravely chose to give up and watch some telly instead.  That was much more fun. (Did you see the blonde one from Abba singing with Gary Barlow?  And Barry Manilow.  Yes folks, you can be called Barry and still be a bit cool, although not much).

Anyway, some hours later, with radiators long forgotten and just as I was considering hitting the pit, Vanessa arrived to inform me that there was no hot water.  A quick inspection (followed by several expletives) revealed that this was because the boiler wasn't working.  Oh joy. 

My first reaction was to think, "I can fix this!"  And then it dawned on me. 

We'd been here before.  I'd had a go at bleeding our radiators last year.  And guess what happened?  Yup, I knacked the boiler. 

Then I had a crack at fixing it.  And guess what happened?  That's right, I failed dismally and had to call the plumber. 

And what did the plumber tell me?  You've got it: "Don't ever touch the boiler again, Barry."

If you don't believe me, have a look at THIS.  

I had genuinely forgotten about the entire episode - and I haven't even had therapy. What a loon. 

Mark (aka Mr Water) was therefore called back this morning (after I'd gone to work, hence no shower) to, once more, fix the boiler and bleed the radiators.  Perhaps I should read this blog more often.

Tomorrow morning, first thing, I'm due to launch an attempt at wallpapering.  Really.

Happy weekend.