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Greetings, my fellow port swillers!

Ol’ Robbo has nothing of interest to report in a normal Saturday Gardening Post.  It was the usual round of mowing, trimming, and clearing off the driveway, and the only notable thing is that I didn’t exhaust myself doing it because, despite the fact that it’s very warm here, it was also very dry today, and I deliberately guzzled water by the quart.

So that’s that.

But what post-worthy activity did Ol’ Robbo engage in today?  Tell ’em, Johnny Olson:

Robbo bought a new toilet!

Yes!

You see, some months back, the loo in the Port Swiller Manor Mawster Baath started weeping water out of the bottom of the tank.  It got so bad that a towel placed strategically underneath would quickly become sodden.  Ol’ Robbo surmised that, given the age of this particular thunder-box, it was likely that the seals around the bolts anchoring the tank to the base had probably gone duff.

So Ol’ Robbo duly investigated.  I shut off the water, undid the line, unscrewed the bolts holding on the tank, and pulled it off.

Yes, the bolts looked pretty cruddy, and so did the washers underneath.

Ah ha! says I.  And since we were going over to Lowe’s the next day to buy a parcel of spring plantings anyway, I deviated over to the plumbing section to pick up some replacement bolts and washers, figuring I could dazzle Mrs. R with a seeming miracle fix that would only cost a couple bucks.

Returning to Port Swiller Manor, in full Mike Rowe mode I put the tank back on the base, switched in the new hardware, re-attached the water line, and turned on the water.

The tank still leaked, maybe worse than before.

D’oh!

Completely un-Mike Rowe-like, I then said the devil with this, I’ll get a pro to deal with it.  In the meantime, I cut off the water again and instructed Mrs. R not to use this potty until we got it fixed.

And time rolled on.

This past week, growing sick of using the Gels’ loo, Mrs. R made an appointment with My Plumber to have one of their bravos come out and take a look.  He arrived this afternoon.

As we climbed the stairs, I explained the above history to him.  It took him about ten seconds after he’d taken the lid off the tank to say, “Oh, yeah.  There’s a hair-line fracture trending out from one of the bolts.  There’s your trouble.  See it?”

I saw it.

And I remembered guiltily back to when I tried to fix the thing myself and half-wondering whether I had maybe heard or felt a faint crack as I was tightening down the new bolts.  Porcelain is a real bitch to deal with and must be handled delicately.  I put this to the fellah.

“Well,” he said, “Look at it this way.  If the thing was leaking already, it’s probable you didn’t do anything to make it worse.”

Ol’ Robbo is perfectly willing to go with that.  If it weren’t broke, I wouldn’t be trying to fix it in the first place.  That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

Anyhoo, the new unit eventually was installed and all is now well save the unexpected money involved.  Godfrey Daniel, these things are expensive!

By the bye, the whole time, I had this old Electric Company bit running through my braims.  Any friends of the decanter remember it?

 

 

 

 

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