Failure works!

 

I’m not going to MNAC (the Catalan National Museum of Art) because of the shower.

I am not, I am the first to admit, the most mechanically minded person in the world.  Although I take a passing interest in how things work, I prefer to remain in the area of the theoretical than actually getting my hands dirty.  And the (eventual) making of competently constructed IKEA Billy Bookcases remains my signal achievement in full-on construction.

So, the metallic unravelling of the coiled steel flexible surround to the shower hose was a problem that could be easily ignored because, although aesthetically irritating, the water still flowed and was as efficient as when the metal was ravelled.  Until you take into account going to the beach.

No matter how still the day, when you leave the littoral sand will have adhered to your legs, and hairy legs mean that the sand seems to adhere more closely.  And it further little matters how efficiently you shower the leg-sand forms a sort of carapace which shrugs off vertical attempts to clean.  You stand under a shower and the leg-sand stays; you need to unhitch the shower head and direct the water jets directly at the stubborn silica.

And that is where the problem with an unravelled surround begins to play a major part because the cheap, anemic plastic tube that is revealed as the metallic trappings fail becomes susceptible to kinking and stopping the water flow.  It has to be replaced.

Now, I have done this before and I know that it is not really that difficult.  The only problem arises if you lose one of the washers that seal the joints or if its rubber or plastic has perished and only the pressure of its situation keeps it operating.  Opening up the joint sometimes is the last gasp of the washer’s efficiency and the thing has to be replaced as soon as it touches the atmosphere.  This did not deter me as I have a supply of washers.  Where they are I know not of, but I know that they exist.  

 Probably.

I had bought a new tube and it has lain in my bathroom like some sort of fashionable snake for the period of time necessary to galvanize me into eventual action.  And the old one did not unscrew by finger power.

At this point it is probably necessary to inform the reader that the water in Castelldefels is a trifle hard.  And when I say trifle, I am being ironic.  Our water is virtually undrinkable.  Undrinkable, but safe.  

Virtually everyone here buys bottled water to drink.  Water for everything else, e.g. the dishwasher, washing machine etc all need to have an anti-calc tablet added to the cycle.  I do make tea and coffee with tap water, but that was only after a battle royal with Toni who regards tap water as a necessary evil rather than an essential part of everyday life.

The shower head came off quite easily – but that particular part has been replaced on numerous occasions – it was the bath tap connection that was the more problematic.  Even the application of mechanical force via pliers did not budge the thing.  A tentative exploration of the under-tap connection revealed something that felt as though it had been hung in Mother Shipton’s cave for a considerable period of time.  It appeared that the connection was fused on to the tap screw.

After considerable thought stretching into the Nano seconds, I squirted a variety of cleaning materials at the joint and gave it a brisk rub with a scourer.  

 And tried again.   

Nothing.

I then had recourse to a more substantial pair of pliers and what passes for brute strength for me, and, lo and behold! something moved.

When I had finally unscrewed the hose, I discovered that the hose connector and the tap connector had come out as one piece.

Separating those two is something that I could not, and Toni (the reserves had been called in at this point) could not budge.  So, I went to bed.

But just before I hit the sheet (it’s too hot for more!) I attempted to screw the old thing back in again so that I could have a shower in the morning.  And it didn’t work.  So, I went to bed and dreamed uneasy dreams about replacing the old tap with new and the resultant cost and floods that would inevitably ensue.

Once you have got used to showering, the mere idea of washing yourself in a sink is tantamount to pre-Victorian barbarity.  I therefore asked Toni to “have a look at it”, which he did and, of course, managed to get the old hose back on to the tap and I was able to have my customary extended shower.

However, the emotional stress of uneasy dreams together with the ritual humiliation of plaintively asking for help sapped my determination to go into Barcelona and get a parking space before the hordes descended.  Also, I had slipped back to sleep and, once you get anywhere near the 10.00am opening time for MNAC then the chances of finding a parking space anywhere in the (free) car park adjacent to the gallery are non-existent.  So, I gave up and settled for the old routine of typing and a swim to fill the time from here to lunch.

The changing of the hose has just been delayed until the requisite number of spanners can be found to give extra heft to intent.  For somebody other than my good self!

And I have also told myself that my visit to the library of MNAC will be of more use when I have received the first of my Elsheimer books that should start arriving in the next few days.  I will be able to give myself a more thorough grounding in the artist’s life and work and I should also be able to start developing a bibliography that should be give more concrete points of reference for use in an art library.

It is truly wonderful how ineptitude, failure and laziness can all be manipulated into coherent strategy!

Don’t knock it, it’s a way of life!