For the last 17 hours I have been planning with great anticipation the first sentence of today’s post: ‘I just had my first decent shower in Scotland, after 13 months.’ I was so excited, both about the upcoming shower, and about sharing it with the world (or at least those of you still hanging in after a year of blethering). Hmm. Well, not quite as planned. Instead of an ode to the joy of a good shower, this post has turned into the first in a series of water rants. This series will cover (but will not be limited to) showers, plumbing, heat, cost of living, black mold, and Scottish insouciance.
Let’s start with today’s shower. Britain is a nation of bathers. I get that. But I’m not sure how, when they decided to introduce showers into their bathrooms, things became so complicated. In Canada, the most basic of bathtubs has a simple shower attached. All of them. And yet, here, well . . . My first Kirkwall house only had a shower stall. You would think therefore, that that at least would be straightforward. You would be wrong.
It wasn’t actually that complicated – it only involved one button, two dials, and a secret. If you didn’t know the secret (that after you pushed the On/Off button to stop the waterflow at the end of your shower, water would continue to flow for another ‘approximately 6 seconds’ – the shower’s words, not mine), in all likelihood you would keep pushing it in frustration, causing water to continue running and running. No, my main complaint about that shower was that there was very little water pressure, and the water didn’t really get that hot no matter how many dials you turned or buttons you pushed. So, for my first year here, all my showers were warm fizzles.
Imagine my excitement upon arriving here at the cottage and discovering that the water pressure was magnificent. (So magnificent that every time I went to fill up a pot or top up Scout’s water bowl, I was drenched with a wave of tap water). Imagine my dismay upon getting in the shower my first day to discover there was next to no hot water. That was all due to this little gadget, on the wall of the mud room.
Like many houses, this one comes with a tankless water heater. Again, like many houses, the owners have added electricity-saving timers and controls. After a couple of days of tepid or even cool showers, I went through the huge packet of appliance instruction manuals, but didn’t find anything water-related. I did find a nifty set of garbage-pickup instructions from Lockdown #1, but not much else. Then, at my landlord’s suggestion, I spent almost an hour researching the online user manuals for the Aquasystem ARB 18 Multifunctional Tank, and the TimeGuard FST24 Fused Spur Time Switch, but those seemed to be all about installation, not usage. Throughout all of this research, I did try pushing various buttons at various times, in hopes of catching the hot water just right. But, no, I simply continued with my chilly showers (I know cool water is better for the scalp and for my skin, but FFS, there is a limit!). Finally, my landlord & I agreed that he should do some more online research and get back to me. Which he did. Turns out it was one of the buttons I hadn’t tried pressing (well, duh). I got the sense yesterday afternoon that he was hoping I would pop into the shower right away and get back to him, but I was busy making Delia’s salmon with leeks, and Julia’s rice with courgettes, and had no time for showering.
So how did this morning’s shower go? More on that in the next post – now I’m off to meet some friends for a rather damp walk up the aptly-named Muddisdale Road.