Water problems

"Water is a precious commodity," said Harry, the Thames Water man, as he put blue plastic bags on his boots and trudged into my house two days ago.

"Ah," I said, non-committedly. It had been a long week and I was deep into follow-up emails, after the two education workshops.

"You have to watch it very carefully, or it'll suddenly disappear one day, and that will be that," continued Harry.

Thames Water visited me a week ago and installed a water metre in a deep hole in the street outside my house. Apparently, someone upstairs at Thames Water had decided that it was time I paid more for my water. Harry was visiting me to tell me all about it and reassure me.

"A small leak can sometimes add as much as £100 to a monthly bill," chirped Harry happily and stared critically at my sink. No leaks there. "Sometimes droughts are worse than floods, when it comes to water," said Harry and coughed drily. He stared at the kettle on my stove.

"Would you like a cup of..."

"That's very nice you. Just one lump and a little milk, please. And those chocolate biscuits look very nice," he added, staring at my digestives.

Harry put his water toolkit down on my kitchen work surface. He extracted several plastic pipes and what looked like a home colostomy kit. He sighed from from the bottom of his blue, plastic-covered boots. "We won't be needing these." He put the apparatus back in his bag, without explaining what it did or why he had taken it out.

"Ah, good," I said, wondering what to say next.

"Do you have a bathroom?"

I stared at Harry. What sort of question was that? I was tempted to say no. Five minutes later and he was yanking at my shower rose and trying to find a fault with the toilet.

"Would you like a brick?" he asked, seriously.

"What?"

"For the toilet. It'll take at least £100 off your bill. I can also adjust the shower so that the water pressure is much less. That'll save another £100."

"But I like a high pressure shower."

"That's as may be..." he said and tapped his nose.

It was my turn to frown.

"You see, people just think water is there all the time. They have no idea."

"But I live on a flood plain," I said.

"Do you?"

"Well, every time someone tries to sell their house round here, the solicitors always dock thirty grand from the asking price, because of the risk of severe flooding. It's always there in the surveyor's reports."

"You get floods here?" asked Harry, suddenly alert and looking worried.

"Not for the last 25 years," I said.

"Oh dear. So you're due one then."

"What?"

"Water can be a tricky thing," said Harry. "Just when you think it's safe, it sneaks up on you from behind."

"Does it?"

"Oh indeed. Do you have a garden?"

We went into the garden and he stared longingly at my clumps of agapanthus. "Very nice. Ah, you use a spring-gun, shower-waterer. Excellent. That'll take £50 off the your bill." There was a pause. "Oh dear, do you use that shower rose?' He pointed at the yellow thing on the end of my hosepipe.

"Yes, sometimes."

"That'll put £100..."

"I get the picture," I said and moved towards the house.

"So, what we'll do is monitor your water behaviour for the next year and will send you bill comparisons. I think you'll find that being on a metre will save you a sizeable amount of water. Anyway, you'll be able to see for yourself when you get your bills. We won't turn the metre on till September, 2019.

"Why?"

"To give the customer time to... adjust."

"Do I have a choice?"

"Nope," sniffed Harry.

I immediately thought of the executives at Thames Water and their vast salaries I was about to contribute a lot more to.

"Oh and this is a little present," said Harry, retrieving a small plastic bag from his toolkit. He gave it to me.

"Put that up by your shower unit."

"It's an egg-timer," I said, thickly.

"Make sure you don't shower for longer than it takes for the blue sand to fall through."

"Why?"

"Because it'll save you..."

"Thanks a lot," I said and closed the front door.

I then went to back lawn and turned the hose on. Full pressure. I did not return to the garden until I had finished all my workshop follow-up. Somehow that felt good.