Water sports

The sunshine of yesterday was a distant memory as I sloshed around in the torrential rain this morning. First task of the day was to try and restore some order to the chaos in the pig pen. Somehow the critters had managed to move a ton or so of hayledge from where it was supposed to be, on the dry flat level bit, to a muddy slope, and to make matters even more interesting they tipped it over. I suspect the smaller critters ate their way in creating instability and then the attentions of a small cow knocked it over.
Whatever the cause I had one chance of getting it back upright, and as that was no chance I wrestled the feeder through the mud and over the bale. The feeder was designed for a radically different mathematical shape than the one I was trying to force it over so something had to give. This happened to be my sense of humour, especially when some suspiciously warm mud ran into my boot, the cow the prime suspect of the cause, so the task was abandoned and with the feed ring was positioned as best it could be and I left them to their breakfast deliberations and began the search for new socks.

The aquatic theme continued indoors as, unable to play outside, I was reminded of the indoors jobs list, one job being plumb in the second washing machine. This we bought some time ago from someone who is intent on world travel so sold all their belongings not able to be carried as hand luggage. The rational behind the second machine purchase was it could be used to wash the dog beds and horse blankets, while the one we already have can be used solely for human clothing. The unfortunate aspect of this plan was called plumbing.
Now it may not come as a big surprise but DIY is not a strong point of mine. DIY theory, that I can master, DIY practice fails to meet mine and other's expectations. It started well, the utility room was dismantled, the machines positioned, the plastic pipe work and connectors laid out and ready, I managed to get into the small space behind the white goods and cottage wall and I prepared to disconnect the cold water pipe to the already connected machine.

A simple task, made easy by having an isolating valve just before the connection. Unfortunately who ever fitted this thought it would be funny to fit one that wouldn't turn off so within the space reserved for vertically challenged plumbers yours truly was suddenly faced with a jet of ice cold water, the pressure akin to a fireman's hose.

In a scene that paid homage to the old joke where the monkey is observed to try an reinsert the cork into the poorly elephants backside, in desperation I struggled against the water flow, hypothermia and ice floes in a titanic battle (pun intended) to get the pipe back on. If my hands were the same size as the original plumbers who's hands must have been the size of an Indonesian Gerbil, whose small paws are designed to get into tiny spaces like the one my hand was jammed in, between the water pipe and wall. Manfully I battled on with hardly a swearword.

Tracey, my beautiful and oh so patient wife was finally alerted to my plight as the cats rowed past her in the last lifeboat and the Berners fired distress flares. Rescue arrived in the form of a mop and bucket with the promise that once I cleared up the mess I could have a hot drink. This was gratefully received as I looked through the classified section of the local rag under P.