Hot water under the bridge

My Bathroom Tap

My Bathroom Tap

Not a good Sunday.

Let me start with, what I thought was, the drama of the day. The problem with having your own flat. When things break there’s no landlord to call.

The nozzle on the hot water bath tap came off. Yeah, crazy, just came off. Was shooting hot water everywhere. And we had no idea how to turn the water off in the flat, so we just ran around like a maniacs for a few minutes until HP had the idea to lower the water pressure on the boiler. He turned the gas on the boiler down to 0, then fiddled with a knob that released the pressure. Soon we didn’t have a geyser, we had a babbling brook.

Then to find a plumber who would come out on a Sunday afternoon. That wasn’t a problem and the £200+ bill proves why. Theoretically, we can reclaim from our housing insurance, but I really do miss the days of a landlord. So much simpler. Why did we buy?

So, yeah, I thought that was the drama of the day, until the drama of the week came crashing down.

Tensions were already high due to Old Faithful in the bathtub, but then HP found out I was considering that job with Betsy in Italy and he lost it.

I never got around to talking to him about it. I kind of wanted to make up my own mind before even broaching the subject. I mean, there’s no point me talking to him about it, and then he says ‘yes’ he wants to do it, but by that point I’ve changed my mind and I don’t want to take the job.

And that’s exactly what happened.

First off, I thought I had gotten myself in hot water because of this blog. Pretty much everyone at home has completely forgot I have it. In fact, part of the reason I started blogging again is because it came up at the wedding. It was Mike who asked, ‘Are you still blogging, I stopped checking it ages ago. I used to check it every day, but can’t even remember the name of it.’

Everyone else agreed, and then we got on the topic about social media and how easy it is to communicate these days, and so on and so forth and the same old tired conversation.

However, this little conversation made me realise two things A) how much I used to really like blogging, and how much better I feel after I spew all my personal drama onto the internet B) since no one is reading it (and none of my mates are signed up for an email when I post) I can start blogging again without my friends getting all up in my business.

Anyway, so when HP confronted me about the Italy trip, I so totally thought he’d been reading the blog after all. (It’s not like he hadn’t done that before.) So, of course, I asked him how he knew about the situation (expecting him to say, ‘I read your blog, you numpty’), when he said that Betsy contacted him on Facebook messenger to see if I was coming to a decision. She didn’t want to nag me, but since she hadn’t heard back she thought she’d chat with HP.

I did tell Betsy I needed to talk to HP about it, but that was mostly a stalling tactic. Like I said, I hadn’t made my own mind up, so I didn’t want to talk to him about it.

But, when he found out, he was massively annoyed.

I can’t remember all that he said, but it was stuff like: ‘You can’t make big decisions like this and not talk to me…I moved to Dundee for you, to a job that I hate, and you’re going to move to Italy without telling me…I’ve told you several times that my mum would love for us to immigrate, and you always say “no”, but one of your friends says it’s a good idea, and you jump on the chance…’ And so on.

I know he has a right to be annoyed, but he’s really over reacting. I mean, is it really very likely that we’re going to move to Italy. No, it’s not. And, I know he hates his job, but in Italy he won’t have a job, and I can’t support him…

Wait I just thought of that. That’s a really good point. We can’t both go to Italy if only one of us has a job. Betsy’s promised a nice salary, but nothing outrageous. And HP’s Italian is okay, as he was raised with an Italian mother, but it’s not great. And, maybe he think’s we’ll hire him to work on Betsy’s publishing company, but I don’t think we should work together again. I’ve had my fill of dating colleagues.

No. We’re not going to Italy. This is all just stupid, and he can be as mad as he likes, there was no point in me bringing it up initially as I’m not taking the job.

Oh, and thanks to Jillofalltrades for the advice. You are such the level headed friend I need in my life. And, you’re totally right about waiting to see what happens after the Referendum. Nothing I can do about it at this point. And well, HP has kind of helped me make up my mind, thanks to his freak out. I’m going with the sensible stable choice. I’m going to say ‘No’, today and on Thursday.

PS-Here’s a nifty little trick for turning you water off if you don’t know where the mains are. If you’ve got a combi boiler, and you turn the cold water off to the boiler, it will cut the water off to the whole house. Now how you turn that cold water off, I’m not sure. He used a screw driver and twisted a nozzle. But it’s good to know.

2 responses to “Hot water under the bridge

  1. Grrr, HP has a point, C. You’re welcome for the advice, even if you skipped Step 1 entirely. :)- I’ve already read the next post and I say that’s *just* what you deserve, in both the positive and negative connotations.

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