It’s called about three different things in the tap community: a ‘threaded valve’, a ‘cartridge’ and horrifyingly enough even a ‘gland’. It’s got 20 teeth and a spline whatever that is. Sounds frightening, but context is everything.

My kitchen tap was leaking. It had been for some time. As per tradition I was putting off doing anything about it. I can’t stress enough how few practical life skills I possess. It’s not that I’m afraid of hard work, rather that there are so many gaps in my knowledge in relation to things that are actually of any use. I can write you an amusing skit about the government or make a fake ham out of chicken wire and Modroc, but don’t ask me to rewire a plug unless you want your entire house to burn down for the insurance. I still claim the time I put up some shelves as a major and frankly heroic victory.

This is the thing, when you try to address a problem, often its far more complicated than you thought it would be. I say often, in my experience almost always. You open a family-sized can of worms complete with worm-granny annexe and extensive grounds and once they’re out you can’t get those wriggly bastards back inside even with the allure of that roll top bath you installed and all that cornicing.

And so was the case with this when the worms (thankfully metaphorically) fell out of the tap. It was just a drip so I’d thought originally it was most likely a simple washer replacement. I’d purchased a pack of various sizes so I’d hopefully have the right fit ready to go. So to start things off, locate the stopcock[i]. And here’s the first hurdle: you might have two. Yeah, some houses have two. Why? Just for shits and giggles I guess. And then the second hurdle: they could be in a number of places. Thankfully as it turned out my house just had the one and it was located outside and clearly marked. It even came with its own ‘key’ to turn it like my father warned me I might need in order to reach it. So far I was apparently winning at life. Having the upper body strength of a bubble, I of course had to ask my housemate to assist with the turning (that and I was turning it the wrong way) but we got it going and let the water left in the system run out of the tap. All still good.

I’d watched a few videos and had the necessary tools so felt ready. I even remembered to put the plug in in case I dropped any small parts down the drain (get me). I unscrewed the casings of each tap, one easily, one quite stubbornly, and next I had to unscrew the headgear nut[ii]. They must have been completely rusted internally, as they wouldn’t budge a millimetre. I know I have no muscle, but I have a reasonable amount of bulk and even with my whole weight pulling on it, nothing seemed to shift it. I checked videos and even texted pictures to my dad to check I was doing it right. Eventually after sheer bloody mindedness and some serious heft, it finally turned.

I was feeling smug until I removed it. It did not look like the one in the video and when I tried to explain it to my dad over the phone (he took a lot of calls that day) he sounded confused. So I sent another photo and looked at more videos and confirmed it was a more modern cartridge / gland / organ / whatever version that could not be dismantled to change the washer. After seeing the latest picture[iii] my father confirmed this, commenting that he assumed my house wouldn’t have anything that modern in it. Charming. For this kind, you need to replace the whole gland / duct / endocrine system. The DIY store was open until late and I was on a (albeit leisurely) roll, so I nipped over. They only had one kind there and it was slightly larger than my existing one, but the instructions on the rear of the packet implied provided that three key measurements were the same, it should still fit: the 8mm spline with 20 teeth (again terrifying) and a half inch thread, which they did. So I took a punt and impulse purchased some gladioli bulbs whilst there as I’m only human.[iv]

The second tap valve was even more stubborn that the first to remove and it took me some time, not aided by the fact that the whole tap seemed to half rise from its base with every pull of the spanner. The second cartridge / toner / Epsom ET-2750 had completely split and I had to lever out the remnants with a flat head screwdriver. This at least made it look promising that this was the cause of the leak rather than anything else even more complicated. I screwed in the replacements and reinstated the casings and although they sat slightly further out from the base than they did before, they fit well enough.

Remembering to move it in the right direction, I managed with some effort to turn the stopcock back to its original position. I heard a ticking and rushing sound and trotted back to the kitchen. And… it worked. It actually worked. After some expected air bubble jetting, the taps worked perfectly and… no drips. I’d actually managed to fix something plumbing related. I know its daft and quite pathetic, but it gave me such a high and a real sense of achievement.

The truth of it is, my housemate and I had had a bit of an argument the previous week. It was over something quite small, but that was symptomatic of a far larger problem. Something I had been avoiding for some time. My patterns of behaviour when home were clearly that of a depressed person.

I’d been spending a lot of time at my parent’s house in order to help them both with things during the pandemic. I was active and productive at their place, but when I’d come home, I’d sleep most of the day, then the remainder would be spent catching up on the work I didn’t have time to do when away and eating too many snacks. And the truth of it was there had been patterns of this behaviour even before my father’s diagnosis and the winter bereavements. Coupled with my mother’s current illness, I have plenty of excuses for my current behaviour, but the reality is I’m using them as excuses for something that was already there.

Again, you could argue there are plenty of excuses for this, I haven’t had much luck in certain areas of my life, but that’s no reason not to work on my resilience. I know it’s a bit buzz wordy and that always makes my buttocks clench, but sadly I think that’s the best word for what I’m looking at here. It feels frightening in many ways though. At the start of the winter, I’d made a conscious effort to put a positive spin on more things, having a tendency to look more on the negative. But it seemed that as soon as I tried that, two tragic events took place as if in an attempt to rid me of any new found optimism. So yes, I’m a bit scared. I’m worried that in trying to make the best of things, I’m challenging life to make it bad again. I’m daring it to do its worst.

But the alternative is creating your own worst. Living in a sort of numb state of pure existence with not a lot else going on. Doesn’t sound very appealing.  

So I need to fix the leaks. Address one small problem at a time so as not to overwhelm myself, and try and get better. There will be days when I fail at this, but I’m hoping there won’t be as many if I plan ahead (at least as much as that’s possible) by setting those ‘small achievable goals’ that people who wear ties always talk about.

I may only be feeling better at present because the sun’s come out and the flowers are starting to emerge (that and my earth-shattering tap prowess), and as soon as the novelty wears off, I’ll go back to old habits. So the trick I suppose is to make the good routines such a habit that they overwrite the old ones?

Just got a phone call update from the hospital about mum. She’s still very frail. So right now I’m feeling that fright I mentioned quite acutely. But I need to reframe this. I can’t let every knock consume me no matter how tempting it is to cocoon myself in my bedsheets again. And they may make the exception for me to visit in view of her communication issues. So this time tomorrow I might be sat at my mother’s bedside, perhaps giving her a belated birthday present.

After all, she spent years trying to fix my teenage broken parts, I’ll keep on returning the favour. And maybe together, we’ll plug enough leaks to make it through.

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[i] Insert obvious gag here

[ii] See above

[iii] I’m compiling a collection together for an exhibition simply entitled ‘Damp’

[iv] A deeply sad one