Woo, hoo!

I fucking love my plumber.

When I rang him for the second time last week I told him I could hear water in the well. It just wasn’t coming up. I couldn’t see how the well could be dry. He allowed that, if this was true (perhaps he thought it was wishful thinking on my part), it did sound as if the problem could be fixed.

He’s just been here. As soon as he’d also heard the water in the well, he told me I had a split pipe, almost certainly frozen last winter. It would need to be replaced. I figured this would involve a second visit, but, no, he said he could do it while he was here. Normally I ask what this is going to cost, but this time I didn’t bother. I need my well water. Whatever it was going to cost was what I’d pay. (Poor old line of credit.) After fixing the well, he changed the filters for me.

“How much do I owe you?” I asked, trying not to sound worried. (Poor old line of credit.) He shrugged. “Sixty dollars.”

I love this guy. I know for a fact that there are a lot of people on the island who would have been charged at least double that amount. At least.

Bless the man.

Not my well

My well has not run dry. Normal service can resume. Hurrah!

And my apologies to Charlie for pointing the finger at him. Not his fault. It was the long, cold winter wot did it.