Daft Old Duffer returns. Guest opinion articles do not necessarily reflect the views of the publication. Ed
The hot tap in my kitchen needed a new washer.
No problem. A simple engineering job. Nothing to a man who has been engaged with engineering from the day he left school. A man who has worked on engines quite literally as big as your house, the twee engines that power 50cc scooters and the tiny motors used in model-making circles.
In short a Mr Capable, ready to tackle any task, no matter how large or small. Confident-Man personified, uncowed by anything mechanical.
Until confronted by that bleedin’ hot tap last Saturday.
Set to work
I started well enough. Swiftly and efficiently collecting together the necessary tools, turning off the water supply, stripping away the tap top and unscrewing the body innards.
Why, I even had a new washer to hand. How impressive is that?
But then I came to an abrupt halt. The loosened body would not come out of its shell.
Take is easy
Being careful not to damage screw=thread or tap outer, I levered and tugged and grunted. Until at last the obdurate thing popped free. Leaving the old washer behind.
Again, no problem. I could see and touch the washer, sitting there just a half inch or so down inside the body of the tap.
Carefully I reached in. Upon which it promptly slid off into the outlet part of the tap where I could no longer see it. I could touch it – just. At the risk of permanently jamming my finger. But there was no way I could grasp it.
The handy wire trick
I found a piece of wire – no self respecting engineer ever lacks a length of bendy yet stiff wire – bent the end into a hook and spent several minutes jabbing and cussing, without the slightest hint of success.
It became evident the only reasonable course of action would be to delve into the dark depths of the cupboard under the sink, disconnect the whole tap and lift it clear so that it could be inverted and waggled and sworn at in comfort.
It’s OK, I’m going in
But bending and kneeling and diving into dark corners is something I was never fond of, and now cannot do at all. Just going down on my knees is a chore difficult to contemplate. Never mind getting up again because the tool I needed is out of reach – and, inevitably, repeating the process two or three times.
Even my well rehearsed grunt valve would not help with that.
Change of tack
I persuaded myself the vagrant washer might not be such a problem. It wasn’t, after all, entirely blocking the outlet. I hoped. Perhaps I could leave it where it was.
So I turned my attention to fitting the replacement washer onto its spigot.
And couldn’t.
Rise to the challenge
I don’t know why. It may have been that the hole in the middle of the new washer was a metric one, while the spigot it was supposed to slip over was imperial. Yet at that tiny size the difference was infinitesimal, so there should have been no problem.
Rising to the challenge I boiled a cup of water and in order to soften the neoprene, I dangled the washer in. Using the vital piece of wire with the hook on the end again. And fully aware that hot water doesn’t soften neoprene. Not really.
Hide and seek
After a moment I lifted it out, took the washer between finger and thumb, swore as it burned me and dropped it on the floor. Where it skittered away under the table, behind the rubbish bin and along to the space behind the freezer. Collecting up much of the litter I had been intending to vacuum away for the last day or so.
I retrieved it, cleaned it, tried again. Twice. Finally managed to locate it over the spigot. And still couldn’t persuade it into place. I jammed the valve body into my vice, spigot upward, and pressed down on the washer with both thumbs. Using all my manly force.
Nothing happened. I reheated the cup of water, re-dangled the washer, re-burnt my fingers and re-pressed onto the spigot.
Arrggghhh
The valve body swung sideways, the washer returned to its hidey hole under the table, and I performed a little dance, waving my damaged thumb about and wishing there was something I could justifiably hit, hurl, or smash.
Cutting a long story a bit less long, I gave in, admitted my defeat, and summoned a plumber.
Who swiftly assessed the situation and, no doubt following official guidelines, replaced both hot and cold taps with the lever type even ham-fisted doddery codgers can manage.
God, I feel old.
Image: ladydragonflyherworld under CC BY 2.0
