Bathroom Sinks: The Shame Of Our Culture

So I raced home the next day an bought the metal wastepipe'n'plug assembly from Arse Hardware and fitted it in a trice. It was, of course too short to meet the wastepipe, but the oversized extension pipe I bought on Sunday was located, the sealing washers exchanged between it and the u-bend, five inches sawn off it, and in a matter of almost 45 minutes: "Hey Pasta!" Instant sink repair.

Or not

The old plastic wastepipe had openings in its sides to accomodate flow from the overflow. This one has them, for some reson, in the front and rear, partly occluding the overflow with metal and reducing the escape flow as a result.

"No matter!" I yelled at the foul anti-handyman evil spirits that were obviously infesting the aether around New Bog, like a bunch of teenagers sulking in a Mall. Maybe that was it. Maybe, like bored teenagers¹ they were attracted to the glue fumes New Bog was redolent with that night. I opened a window just in case, and decided to press on.

I filled the sink and let it overflow. There was some dripping, so I tightened the underside nut a little. More dripping. Hmm. No wetness at the bottom seal though. Hmm. I pused the plug eject lever and watched even more dripping, a lot more in fact,as the sink drained. Hmm. It all seemed to come from the part where the polished pipe emerged from the rougher casting of the wastepipe throat. Hmm.

It was obvious what was happening. The wastepipe was made by press fitting a pipe into a cast shape. The press-fit joint wasn't up to the task of keeping in the water, especially at the pressure of a full basin with a newly popped plug. Something Would Have To Be Done.

I dithered and gibbered but eventually couldn't think of anything better than giving the Never-Setting Silicone Caulk Of Annoyance another go, this time as a seal around the pipe/casting interface and open to the air (which might encourage some sort of curing). So I did that, and retired downstairs to join Mrs Stevie in watching another episode of "Shogun", which she has on DVD.

Mrs Stevie hadn't seen this show since it was on in the 1970s, and had quite forgotten how ancient Japanese culture treated its womenfolk. So had I, and it was with a secret relish that I saw stern samurai kicking their women around and generally having it all their way.

Until Mrs Stevie could take it no more that is.

I don't know whether she has no appreciation for other cultures and mores, or whether my gleefull sniggering every time some poor woman was yelled into place had become too loud, but she span round and snarled "Stop giggling and make tea!" at me. I looked at her down the length of my nose and pulled my lips into a samurai-like sneer

Then I made tea.

1. Redundant, I know, but so are the teenagers, mostly ↑