I Need a Real Man … Badly

Or any female currently breathing. My white stuff is empty and I don’t know how to fix it.

Our apartment block just got new eco-friendly boilers. It comes with a filter full of white powder. The powder is not cocaine. But nobody will tell me what it is. I overheard the plumber dude asking his apprentice,

“Why does the foreigner want to know.”

I suggested to him that perhaps everybody wants to know what is flowing down the waterpipes in their castle. He reliably informed me,

“No. Nobody has ever asked before.”

“Ever,” I persisted.

“Ever,” he sneered. I decided right there and then not to offer him coffee.

A few moments later, I had a change of heart. I walked into the kitchen and asked if they would like a coffee.

“Yes,” they replied. No hot-blooded Italian turns down a coffee. Or Bruschetta. Or any aperitivo. Even if it is made by a stupid inquisitive foreigner.

I stood next to them in the kitchen and proceeded to make Moka coffee for three. I was closely watched to make sure, as a foreigner, I did not add garlic or some strange additive and that I made it like mama used to make it.

Everything in Italy has to be made like Mama made it. Fortunately, there have been 81 million Mamas, so missionary is not the only position they know.

I got the nod of approval from plumber boy.

Right up to the point I took out a Tupperware tub and put 1 teaspoon of white powder in each of their cups, but not mine. It was Coffee Mate. I use it for baking sometimes.

“What is the white powder,” the plumber asked.

“Nobody has ever asked me that question,” I replied and walked out of the kitchen.

After a few weeks, the white powder stuff in my water boiler filtration system was empty and I was scared to touch it. For those that do not know — “stuff” is a technical term in Italy.

I tried to remember the rules of powder engagement. Nada.

I need a real man or one of those females that roam the planet. Women always listen to the rules and the handyman. So they would know how to replace it. I had a further 2 capsules on the fridge top. 4 paces from the empty one at the boiler. Tantalizingly close to fixing the problem, and yet so far.

Men don’t listen. Real men just figure it out. Handyman style. And always at greater cost — but let’s not go there.

“Handymanship” is a superpower, which I do not possess. The fact it ends with “ship” tells you it’s from another planet.

The female I own till death or sickness or both, separate us, is roaming the streets of London at the moment while I am in Italy defenseless and alone. With no white stuff.

She would know what to do, but she’s spending money on my credit card in anger. I purchased something and she’s a bit miffed about it. As punishment, she entered both Louis Vuitton and Hermes with a vengeance on the same day.

She did not give the credit card time to recover. It is hyperventilating. She threatened to take my eldest daughter shopping with her, but turns out, she has a heart and didn’t.

I know men who wished they had daughters. Be careful what you wish for. Boys want a pet frog. Girls want a Sephora in the bathroom. Fully stocked.

Have I previously mentioned, that the DIY industry uses me like NASA used monkeys in space to test the rocket systems? I’m not good enough to be sent into space for space exploration. Instead, I’m used to check how foolproof DIY stuff is.

They put a monkey in one room and me in another, and observe who works the item out first. As it stands the monkey is 8/4 in front, but I did win the last two.

I knew how to work a lightbulb. So I’m confident I can catch up.

I’ve seen the light.

It is going to cost me about € 120.00 to get the plumber guy back out to explain it again. Perhaps as many as three times. Slowly. Like I’m a chimp. while he changes it. And by the time he unlocks his van to Postman Pat off to the next job, I’d have forgotten what he said I must do.

Obviously, I could make notes, with a carefully drawn diagram for reference. Because it’s all very complex. But lest we forget … I am a man.

There are 3 levers to move and something to twist as well. So note-taking would be beneficial. But I am not doing that.

I walked the planet first, I can handle this.

I could be wrong but you have to twist it either clockwise, or anti-clockwise. And one of the levers has to be left in neutral or moved to the left or right.

But I’m told I must definitely not pull it. I cannot tell you how badly I want to just pull it. I want to see what happens.

I last did this when I was about 13 or so, and the result wasn’t all that bad.

You can call me Curious Uve if you feel the need. Claire Franky you have dispensation to just carry on calling me “Young Fuck.”

I would explain further, but it’s very complicated.

And in my defense, I’m a man.

If I began writing things down and note-taking or made sure I understood how things work, instead of saying, “Yeah, yeah, uh-huh, OK, yes, yes … so that’s how that works, I thought so, … uh huh, OK, yes, I’ve got it,” when in fact I have no clue, … I’d be a woman.

And then before you know it, I’d need tampons … and be asking for travel directions from people in the destination vicinity … it’s a slippery slope.

As it is I cried in “Marley & Me.”

I may therefore be in transition anyway.

Also, you’ve not seen my diagrams and drawings of stuff. I’m not allowed to play Pictionary. The last time I played, I drew a horse and they got “A LONG DROP IN Pooh, India” — how is that possible?

It was so a horse.

I also cannot ask my wife or family. (See Hermes above). As it is they are not talking to me because I have bitten the bullet and bought a farmhouse, subject to a water report.

I say subject to, but that was just to please the family. I’ve bought the farm. Let’s just call a spade a spade.

When you buy a farmhouse, it comes with some land as well. So I got that too. Bargain.

I may test the theory about “watching grass grow”, on an industrial scale.

My father-in-law has a saying: only a clot buys a plot.

The water report was me needing to give the impression that I was being cautious. Hahaha. Do you think I give a flying fuck about the water? Not on your nelly. This is Italy … the home of San Pellegrino bottled water.

Italy was drinking water from bottles while the USA was still perfecting the Colt 45 revolving chamber. And the UK was rubbing sticks for fire. And milk is so cheap now that supermarkets have fucked dairy farmers so badly, that I can bath in that if I need to bathe.

Father-In-Law, I too have a saying — no risk, no reward.

I know how to find water:-

I’ve purchased Divining Rods and a book on DOWSING as we speak.

€9.95 from Amazon for a set of two rods, so you know they are going to work. €9.95 for two pieces of thin copper wire is NOT cheap. Basically, it is an opened wire coat hanger.

But these I am assured are the real deal. They’re even copper coloured. The only downside is they’re made in China. And we all know they use osteomancy and plastromancy methods instead.

If you come out to the land this weekend, you will see me on my quadbike holding the handlebars with my knees and divining rods in my hands like Light Sabres.

Water Table … “I am your Father”.

I wrote a message to the family on WhatsApp, that I had bought a farm, and my wife immediately sent me a picture with one line:

Are you sure this is a good idea?

Followed closely by my youngest daughter, who is known as the family joker, with this picture and one line:

How is the lemon tree doing?

Ye of little faith.

I think my white stuff problem is solved.

The Boiler Man didn’t even try and explain how to do it over the phone, he simply said, “Don’t touch … I’ma cum’a now.” He has repaired a few of my DIY repair jobs in the past.

I may be earning a reputation.

I still do not know how I managed to pull the bath mixer taps clean off the wall. In my defense, he did tell me to “jiggle the lever” to see if rust had built up in the pipes. I can now confirm there was rust. I can see it floating on the bathroom floor and all the way down the passage to the lounge.

Did I mention the farmhouse is a fixer-upper? I’m off to buy power tools. I love power tools.

The boiler man, when I showed him the property pictures and I told him I am going to personally fix it up, just said, Santa Maria …

He was rubbing his hands while he said it. Is that good?

Uve out.