How wet was my wet room

You may recall our excitement and jollity on learning that we were to have a wet room. We joked about whether you could take a shower while sitting on the toilet and whether you would have to wear galoshes to keep your slippers dry while you were cleaning your teeth.

We now have a firm date for the start of the work on the flat which will take 4 to 5 weeks. We will have to pack up a lot of our stuff in boxes supplied by the council who will then put them in store. We will continue living in the flat because the alternative is to move out temporarily but that would set the work back at least 6 months as there is no alternative accommodation available at present. Also, the gas fire, you may recall, has been disconnected and we have no heating so we want the new heating system to be installed as soon as possible.

Yesterday afternoon, two council officers came around to “talk us through” the programme of work. They were very pleasant and helpful and the meeting went some way towards reassuring us. We talked about the kitchen and were promised extra cupboard space and then asked to choose the tiles and the paint colour.

Then we moved on to discuss the bathroom. I was a little surprised when they said that the bath, the wash basin and the toilet would be “available at all times” but I said nothing until they produced their board with tiles and paint colours and asked us to choose our bathroom decor. Tigger and I shot a glance at one another. “Er, what about the wet room?” we enquired.

“A wet room!” they exclaimed. “What wet room? We know nothing about a wet room.”

“Er, we were told we were getting a wet room.”

“Well, no one told us,” they replied.

“Oh dear,” we whimpered, crestfallen. “Will this complicate the work?”

“I should say so,” they replied. “We’ll have to look into this and let you know yea or nay. But I can tell you we haven’t installed a single wet room, not one, so far.”

So it seems that we are in one of those left-hand, right-hand situations and that the wet room is beginning to look like a might-have-been rather than a promising reality. It’s not the end of the world, of course. I can continue to get into the tiny bath by folding myself like a jackknife but I am used to this. In fact, if we stay in a hotel that has a bath I always feel odd, as if I am bathing in a swimming pool.

To hear them talk, it sounds as if the refurbishment will run with military precision and be completed within the allotted time. It’s possible, I suppose, as they are refurbishing the whole borough and presumably have plenty of experience, but I will believe it when I see it and be relieved when it is all over.


About SilverTiger

I live in Islington with my partner, "Tigger". I blog about our life and our travels, using my own photos for illustration.
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One Response to How wet was my wet room

  1. Ted Marcus says:

    I shall refrain from any commentary on your possibly dashed dreams of a wet room (a term completely unknown on this side of the Atlantic). But I do hope the various tentacles of the Council’s bureaucratic squid manage to get together and not drag out your refurbishment into next year.

    So just what was the mysterious destination of your recent adventure?

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