The Bog Days of Summer

WW’s approach to things is “if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it”. This is all well and good, except when his definition of broke varies from, say, mine.

Let’s talk about the head. The head (what you landlubbers call the toilet, loo, bog, etc.) is a delicate piece of plumbing that dislikes…just about everything. The only things to go in it are the usual and TP. No hair, rotting leftovers, dust, female sanitary products, nor, god forbid, paper towel. It is necessary to control that instinctive flick of the wrist that sends things bogward on land with no ill effect. In the head, they will cause cloggage. The way I see it, anything whose inner workings includes a joker valve has to be trouble.

Now, this particular head has been a bit of a misery from the day we moved aboard. It tends to work as it ought, but then, while not in use, it may refill with liquid of unpleasant odour and suspect colour. WW has not considered this “broke”. It has been a sensitive issue…ask my sister. Much labour (pumpings in and out, lubricating, sweat and toil) has gone into keeping it not broke. Obviously, the third crew member (TCM) felt it was time to precipitate repairs. Hence, the small piece of paper towel which jammed ‘er up good.

The first plan was for WW to swim under the boat and see if the blockage could be cleared at the exit grill. Wind and waves made this a not-good choice. So dismantle it was. This began with the task of bailing her empty. I got that job. Yum. Then WW hung head down behind the throne and disconnected pipes and hoses and tubes and things. I took bits and pieces on deck and removed large amounts of mineral build up--entire rocks in some cases. Then WW took all the bits down to their components and we cleaned those. That must have been when the TCM dumped the setting handle (to select tank, empty or out) into the sea. WW tried snorkelling about in search of it, but the sea had taken it to its bosom.

Well, there were rocks inside in tubes and the joker valve was completely everted…it had been installed backwards. It was just as well the loo had been deconstructed. Then WW hung head down some more, kafeeyah in place, and reconstructed. Mind you, he still hadn’t unblocked the blockage. For that, he once again went swimming, a small screwdriver tied to his suit, and picked away at the obstruction which was, as predicted, at the grill. Banging on the hull was the signal for me to pump. I pumped. It worked!!

We now have a head that doesn’t suffer from reflux disorder, that operates properly and efficiently, and that doesn’t smell anything from peculiar to awful. I think the TCM was right. It was broke. I like it fixed.