The enemy strikes again

I’ve never liked water; probably because it’s wet! Mind you, I like drinking water, but I don’t like being in it. I don‘t like soaking in a bath tub and I hate swimming. As I child I always used to find excuses not to attend swimming class. That explains why I’m a lousy swimmer; my favourite stroke being ‘baksteenslag’, which is Flemish for brick stroke, meaning that I sink like a brick after 10 metres or so. I do like taking showers though, but can’t stand having water in my eyes and ears.

I guess the fear stems from the time when I was six or seven years old. I had spent a summer day with friends at an outdoor pool, mainly staying in the children’s pool where the water was only 50 centimetres deep, when my mother called me because it was time to go home. I walked along the edge of the ‘big’ pool to the spot where my mother was waiting for me with a large towel when a smartass kid ran past me and pushed me into the deep end of the pool by the diving board. I immediately sank to the bottom and it seemed like ages before I surfaced again. All the time I saw air bubbles floating in front of my face, making a terrifying shushing sound in my ears. I survived … but never got over the trauma.

A pretty fish at the Antwerp Zoo; clearly not afraid of water ...

Is it because I don’t like water that it seems as if it is following me around? In the first apartment where I lived from 1980 till 2001 I had a water leak in the utility room and my upstairs neighbour frequently flooded her utility room, causing the water to run down the pipes into my apartment, drenching the fitted carpet in my hallway. Moreover, the complex had been built with poor-quality materials and the windows were ill-fitted, so that water seeped in underneath the windowsills when a south-westerly storm hit the building … a frequent phenomenon in the early 90ties.

When I moved into my former apartment in 2001, I felt a sense of relieve, leaving the water problems behind. And then, in 2009 the enemy struck again. If you’ve been reading this blog for a while you know all about the damp problem that in the beginning of this year made me flee the apartment, where I had been so happy for almost 10 years. By the way, the origin of the leak still hasn’t been found and the apartment is still vacant, and not up for rent yet.

More fish ... bad tempered or just shy?

Since March 2011 I have been enjoying the dry comfort of my present apartment. Until last night! I had just taken a shower and washed and dried my hair when I heard an alarming shushing sound in the utility room where the gas burner for the central heating is located. I opened the door and saw a geyser of water spouting from one of the pipes behind the gas burner. I also found myself standing in two centimetres of cold water. I saw several red handles and frantically started pulling and turning them. Nothing happened; the water kept spouting. I squeezed myself in the narrow space behind the big burner and found another red handle, close to the spot where the water was coming from. I pulled it, pushed it, and hammered on it with my fist. The silly thing wouldn't budge a millimetre.

By then my neatly brushed hair was soaked again and my slippers felt like two sponges. I realized that I needed help. I slipped on a pair of dry shoes and a fleece jacket and ran downstairs. Just when I arrived at the bottom, my downstairs neighbour came out of his apartment. He’s a young divorced father with two small girls. He’s a heavy smoker and I suspect him from drinking a lot. He doesn’t look healthy at all, with a green-greyish complexion and hardly any flesh on his bones. Not exactly the kind of man you want around in a crisis situation. But what the heck, he was there, so I asked him whether he had a second to come and help me turn the red handle and stop the water from flooding my apartment. He looked at me as if I came from another planet and mumbled: “I have to go and get my kids. I don’t have time. Just cut off the water in the basement.” So much for friendly neighbours!

I succeeded in cutting off the water, like he had suggested and went upstairs again … finding myself in a cold (I had switched off the gas burner, just as a precaution), wet and waterless apartment. No water to wash, to flush the toilet or to make a cup of comforting herbal tea. Not a pleasant situation on a Sunday evening … or on any night, come to think of it.

(more to come)