Plumbing

This happened a while ago, but it's worth re-telling.

It was a Thursday night. I noramlly get home at about 6.30, then head out to go Dj by about 7.30. At about 7pm I was making a little dinner and noticed the radiator in the kitchen was cold. The rest of the house was ok, so thought it must be this one dodgy point.
The heating was on max and had been for a while, so it shouldn't be *that* cold and so I figured it needed bleeding.

So I found the little key and started to bleed the radiator.

Sure enough, out rushed the air.

And rushed.

And rushed.

So I loosened it still further to let it out a bit faster. I knelt down and touched the radiator, and feeling the bottom of the radiator was warming I became flushed with my success and all round greatness. Bored of waiting, I loosened it a bit more.

The fricking thing shot out and hit the wall, closely followed by a stream of boiling water.

So I'm stood there in the kitchen with boiling water shooting out, and the first obvious thing I attempt is try to put the stopper back in using the key. But the tiny little thing is lost in the shaft of the radiator key and this water is BURNING me.

I fiddle and fuss and fight, but all the time the jet is gushing water over me and the floor...

After considering leaving it to flood the kitchen, I rethink and conclude that this little situation is a very bad thing. I *have* to stop the flow.

Cue dishcloth.

Only dishcloths are exactly that... cloth.

Not much good for plugging a gushing hole streaming a piss of fire.

Next brainwave: the water is hot so I think "I'll turn the heating down".

But that's not gonna work is it? I mean, there's a gallon of hot water on the floor and a whole fricking central heating system-full on it's way, so turning it off is as good as pissing into the wind.

I step away and the dish cloth makes a soggy slap against the wall.

I decide that the only thing to do is to ditch the key and the attempts at steming the flow, and to try to put the little stopper back in by hand.

What a fricking stupid idea.

I'm looking closely at it to try and figure a way to fit the stopper in when just as I get up close to the hole the pressure miraculously runs out.

And so it starts spurting like a sprinkler INTO MY EYES.

Squinting through stinging eyes and with scolded fingers I manage to persuade the little shit back into its hole, tighten for all I'm worth and as fast as my screaming fingers will allow me...

This whole debacle took about 10 minutes and the taxi was due in another 15 to take me to go Dj. Regaining my composure in an inch of hot water and soggy socks I start to recuperate and clean the flood.

I only wish I had kept my balance.

Wet arsed and laughing I try to mop the floor... with myself.

Deciding now that the house would still be cold, and since I was wet I put the heating back on.

Realising I had successfully drained the pressure I thought it might be a good time to put my evident plumbing skills back into action.

Underneath the boiler are 2 taps: loosen one, then the other, to restore pressure. Do it slowly and stop when you get to 1.5 on the gauge. Interestingly the first tap turned really easily, and there was no problem. So far, so good. The second was fine too. Thankful that at least my tap turning skills were still intact even despite my beetroot hands and blistered vision I waited until the pressure reached 1, and turned off the second tap.

Then, naturally, I reached for the first one and turned.

Holding the freshly detatched tap handle, I began to grin at the sheer preposterous hilarity of my predicament and watched the little pressure gauge creep slowly towards... and then past... the danger mark.

Deciding that "closer to the boiler is better" I proceeded to attach various surrounding cupboard-dwelling metal refuse to my limbs via the art of piercing as I fell into the boiler room and desperately attempted to fix the tap.

Panicking before all and sundry would be consumed in a cavalcade of exploding boiler, subsequently decorated with junk and in considerable pain, I reattached the tap handle and slowed the climbing pressure gauge at about 3. I say "about" because the gauge markers ran out at 2.5, and the little pointer was straining at a level slightly above it, pointing barely upwards like some sort of octogenarian erection.

With scalded hands, a burning eye, damaged pride, gashed knees and a waning sense of humour I clambered out of the boiler room and slopped back through the kitchen.

Then my brain figured that the pressure dropped when I bled the radiators so....

...

I gave up and went to my room.

My attempts at plumbing have been suspended until further notice.