I concluded yesterday’s post grumbling that the surveyor had not put in an appearance long after the appointed time. He did eventually arrive and when he did there were three of him. Or putting it another way, it wasn’t a surveyor but a team of surveyors.
Three surveyors plus two occupants makes five bodies and five bodies are rather a lot for a flat as small as ours. We managed somehow. I told the tallest and most sympathetic-looking surveyor about the gas fire being disconnected. I went for a noble sadness rather than a cringing whine and hope I succeeded. Not that it mattered. He nodded and said they were going to remove it anyway. Gas fires has become difficult to maintain and the Council was doing away with them.
So what would we have instead, I wanted to know, fearing the worst. He then confirmed the worst: gas-fired central heating. We explained we didn’t want it and would rather have the gas fire, please, but to no avail. We are getting gas-fired central heating, apparently.
Tigger suggested someone might like to consider the bathroom as we had a list of topics relating to it. Two surveyors and Tigger went off to the bathroom but I stayed behind. It is hard to get one person into our bathroom, let alone three, and four would have been impossible so I stayed behind and held the end of the tall surveyor’s tape measure. He was measuring the room with a view to refurbishing the kitchen corner. They are going to plan a new one for us and draw plans for us to look at.
At this point Tigger returned with a happy smile. “A wet room!” she declared.
“Er, a what?”
“A wet room. We’re getting a wet room!”
Tigger was clearly excited by the news so I thought I’d better be enthusiastic too. And I was. Sufficiently, I hope. And then I thought to ask what a wet room was.
Apparently, it’s like a bathroom, only wetter. The whole room is like one big shower cubicle, if you can imagine a shower cubicle that contains a shower and also a washbasin and a toilet. The major advantage seems to be that you don’t have to worry about getting water on the floor and it dripping on your neighbour’s head downstairs. It’s all contained. I wondered whether you could have a shower while sitting on the toilet but I expect we’ll have to wait and see.
It was all a lot more exciting than I expected and after they had gone we had a little rest and discussed it all. Then Tigger had an idea but didn’t tell me what it was. It involved going out, so I fetched my hat and jacket and off we went. I didn’t ask where we were going as this was supposed to be a surprise and knowing in advance would have spoilt it.
After a couple of buses, we arrived at the newly refurbished Royal Festival Hall. I used to go there quite often but had not visited since it reopened.
We saw that there was a place where you could buy programmes and ice cream. I went to buy ice cream but when I looked in the fridge, it was empty. “Sorry,” said the young lady, “they haven’t arrived yet.” So I went to the bar and bought cranberries juices. At £5 for the pair I think they were profiteering but I didn’t say anything so as not to spoil the mood.