The Bathroom

Well, Ronnie the cat was back in action again this morning, my own personal but somewhat arbitrary alarm clock. I wondered downstairs bleary eyed, trying not to tread on Ronnie as he clowned around between the banisters, and did what every 40 something woman does on waking, headed for the bathroom. Morning routine of the middle aged. Have a wee, make sure all vital parts of anatomy functioning at least at basic level, have a cup of tea. With my parents it is have a wee, have a cup of tea, check the obituary pages of the local newspaper.

Anyway, back to this morning. As I opened the bathroom door I remembered that we don't have one at present. A couple of very nice men called Gary and Shane ripped it out yesterday. This was by prior arrangement you understand, and not the latest in some bizarre Norfolk craze whereby you go into people's homes in broad daylight and make off with an entire room. So Gary and Shane (not their real names) abandoned me at about 4.00pm yesterday with a cheery 'We'll be back in the morning love', leaving me with an empty shell where the peach bath, toilet and sink once stood. Don't get me wrong, I bore no emotional attachment to my old bathroom (who actually likes peach, the colour of nightmarish 80s bridesmaid dresses?) but I am quite keen on the concept of being able to go to the toilet and wash.
Fortunately we have a very old and not entirely functional toilet and wash basin upstairs so until the new bathroom is complete (anything up to 2 weeks apparently - where are DIY SOS when you need them?) that is what we shall have to use. We'll do our best in the hygiene department, but just to be on the safe side I wouldn't stand down-wind of the Harrison family for now.