this teacher's life

On Friday morning the lovely Sharon was up early and begrudgingly off to work. I was left as the responsible adult in charge of the little people. After my pancake making breakfast duties were complete, I decided to take advantage of the kindle, xbox and TV time to do some home maintenance. Plumbing.

The shower’s thermostatic valve needed servicing. The first time I did this, years ago, it was because it was stuck on a temperature setting; painfully hot. This time it had become more difficult to turn it closed. So, water off, tanks drained, I pulled it all apart, replaced all the O rings, greased the bits that needed grease, then put it all back together. It seemed much easier than I remembered it was the first time. Of course something had to go wrong. It leaked. I drained all the water again then tried again, and again. The little people began to miss a flushing toilet. Eventually I figured that one of the O rings in the service kit was fractionally smaller than the original. With the original in, it worked. With that difficult task done, it was time for something simple. Not really.

I needed to replace the shower shelves, which meant drilling new holes in the tiles. Drilling holes in tiles should be a delicate job to avoid cracking. However, I knew from experience that these tiles were not delicate. These tiles are made of the core of neutron stars. Never use a hammer drill on tiles. A couple of years ago I used the hammer function for half an hour and blunted several drill bits just to make one hole. These tiles were 10mm of porcelain, hardened in the same furnace as Thor’s hammer Mjolnir. Added to the frustration was the protests from the little people. How were they expected to enjoy their devices with all the drilling noise?

I tried. I kept stopping to sort through the box of drill bits to find a better one, but the first of four holes to be drilled was still only a few millimeters deep. I slowly resigned myself to what had to be done. I needed to spend some money and get the right tool for the job.

I barked instructions; pyjamas off, get dressed, teeth cleaned, shoes on, get in the car. I herded the little people away from their devices and off on a fun family adventure to Screwfix.

To drill into a material the drill bit must be harder than the material. I resigned myself to the need for a set of tungsten carbide drill bits and one diamond drill bit. On the Mohs scale of hardness; tungsten carbide is 9, diamond is 10 and trying to look after children while doing DIY is 11.

Lunch was delayed by an hour as I wanted to finish the job. I needed a sense of achievement. The diamond drill bit laughed at the tiles, and my wallet.  The little people were glad the noise was over and they had a flushing toilet again. Nothing is ever straightforward.

It was the lovely Sharon’s birthday and she wanted to go to a walled garden and see flowers. At one point in my life I started to listen to Radio 4 and I accepted the process of aging. Now it is viewing flower beds, walled gardens and looking forward to Friday night’s Gardener’s World with the guru Monty Don. I still accept it all, however there is a line in the sand for me and gardening. I work on the edibles and the trees, and the lovely Sharon works on the beautiful flowers, the things to look at while sitting beside the borders eating morning porridge. Yet, some inspiration from her birthday adventure, and her flower borders slipped into my mind; the wild flowers.

This morning I began researching wild flower seeds online. Then I consulted Gardening for Bumblebees by Dave Goulson (another guru). I made placed an order with a local company then grabbed my hoe and spade, and headed out into the garden. Actually, as wild flowers help pollinators like bees, I think I am still on my side of the line in the sand. I’m planting the beautiful coloured flowers for the bees, and therefore the honey. Who am I kidding.

The grand plan is to make two patches of wild flowers in the back garden. I stripped the two patches of grass and was about to begin raking the soil to prepare it, when two of the little people arrived. They wanted to help. This often means the job will take twice as long. Yet this time they got the hang of it quickly and turned it into a competition to see who was best. I couldn’t believe this was happening and tried to slip quietly away and leave them to it when the third little person, the littlest man, arrived and saw his siblings competing furiously. He couldn’t be having that, “Daddy, get me a rake now!” I got him a rake then left as quickly as I could. Fifteen minutes later they declared the raking complete and started to put me in the difficult position of choosing who was the winner when, as quickly as the competition started, it was over. They suddenly thought of something more exciting and ran off. Who was the winner? I was.