I should be so lucky.

You don’t get anything for nothing. Or so says the old adage.

I mentioned last month that I’d managed to get a new shower at a bargain price. When I bought it, the girl on the counter said it would probably take 7 to 10 days to arrive, but added that she had to point out that it could take a maximum of up to 21 days. “But it never takes that long, we’re just obliged to point it out. 7 to 10 days is the norm.” It took 35 days. And then, when I went up to collect it, they couldn’t find it and I had to go back the following day.
Anyway, I finally got it back home and thought I’d fit it myself. I’m reasonably handy with stuff  (though I openly admit to hating plumbing because, if you get it wrong, water can bring your ceiling down). But  how hard can it be?
It was only when I removed the existing shower, that I saw what an abortion of an installation the cowboy plumbers who I’d paid good money to had made of it. Getting the new one in was a bitch of a job and took me most of the weekend, but it went in and the pipework looked far better than what had been before.
But that’s where the good news ends, because it’s rubbish. There is no decent water pressure and the temperature is little more than tepid. And I don’t know why. And so, despite having spent a small fortune at The Plumb Centre, on bits of pipe and elbows and joints and nipples and 200cwt of PTFE tape, I’ve now decided to let a proper (recommended) plumber come round and look at my handywork whilst he sucks his teeth and shakes his head sorrowfully.

In the same post last month, I also mentioned that I’d got a new visor for my helmet, free of charge, saving me a whopping fifty quid. I was well happy with that. I rode home from the bike shop with a grin from ear to ear. When I got home, I put the bike away and put the helmet in its protective cover before sticking it on the shelf. And then I went on holiday for two weeks. And then I was too busy to go out on it. And so it didn’t get used for a month.
But, this weekend, the weather was shining and so I thought I’d go out for a quick spin. I put my helmet on and lifted the visor. It snapped. Again. In the same place. It’s only a month old and has only been used once! I can’t be bothered to go back to the shop to complain. I’m not sure they’d believe me, anyway.  But I’ll also never again buy anything from Shark.

In last week’s post, I was moaning about the lack of respect for others by some noisy cinema-goers.  So, what are this mob doing in a cinema in London where they are probably not needed? They should come down to Torquay with me… they’d have a bloody field day!

A few years back, if you walked around the swimming pool on holiday, you’d see almost everyone reading whatever was the latest tome in the Harry Potter chronicles. This year’s must-read is Fifty Shades of Grey. On holiday last month, I reckon at least half the women around the poolside had their noses firmly into this book. For it is women, of course, who are the target audience for mummy-porn. I am in no doubt though, that their boyfriends and husbands have had a few sneak peaks too. Not me though. *cough*
E.L James, the author of this runaway success was being interviewed on Classic FM this week – not least to advertise the Fifty Shades of Grey Classical Album which is soon to be on sale – and I was pleasantly surprised to find that, despite now having sudden and enormous wealth, she was a most unassuming and very down-to-earth person. Who loved classical music. Not what I expected at all, from the writer of the erotic prose that has supposedly changed the sex lives of millions of women around the globe. I guess I shouldn’t judge a book by its cover.

And finally, Esther, I saw this on the M4 t’other day. And I couldn’t help but laugh at the bare-faced cheek of it (see what I did there?) And yes, that is a log that they’re, er… carrying.