Our ongoing saga of random conkings-out of household machinery restarted last month when one evening the loo began flushing itself every few moments, meaning the well pump was turning on and off in a pattern akin to traffic flow during rush hour, only a great deal speedier. Not to mention running the risk of burning itself out. As a result Adam's ale ran rampant and in alarming quantities during our investigation, which showed no obvious problem bedeviling the tank's mechanism. Joining in the merry aquatic activity the stopcock under the tank apparently did not feel obliged to do its work, despite moving it both ways. So on the advice of the plumber we flipped the switch controlling the well, turning it on and off to restore water as and when needed.
Ladies and gentlemen, we never before realised how many times a day we required water for one purpose or another. Try counting the occasions you turned your taps on in the course of any given day and you'll be startled at the very least.
The plumber arrived that afternoon and soon revealed the problem to have been caused by what he called black sand partly choking a vital tube. This is not really surprising. The high mineral content in our water sometimes coagulates and has caused similar blockages on other occasions, such as in the showerhead as well as one of the incrustations adorning the heating boiler. If memory serves, it was the latter's bell-shaped gizmo which we understand serves as a water feed valve. We suspect the dark colour of the sandy obstruction responsible for causing the bother is related to the iron present in our water, which is high enough to cause dark stains to form in a short time. In any event, the entire tank mechanism was replaced and peace once again returned to the turbulent waters.
Two days later we woke up to a cold house. A really cold house. Our hydronic heating -- water was involved again, as you see -- had come out on strike some time during the night. The boiler wallah appeared on the threshold a couple of hours after our call, by which time the indoor temperature had fallen to 43 degrees. It took some time, but the cause of the problem was eventually traced to a failing thermostat. Our wall now sports a new-fangled model of the type with big figure displays and we are advised we must remember to change its batteries every year. While we do not expect to see the boiler wallah again in the autumn when he arrives to conduct a pre-winter heating check-up, much as we like him hopefully his shadow won't darken our doorstep before then.
Just last week the melodious sound of fast-running water, accompanied by a theme played on the well pump, broke into our consciousness. Yes, the loo was at it again. This time Mr Maywrite diagnosed the problem at a glance: the chain attached to the clapper had come adrift for unknown reasons, got lodged under said flapper, and was preventing it from closing completely. The hook part of the doings moved a link or two down when reattached to the chain solved the problem without need to turn the stopcock. Either way.
No comments:
Post a Comment