The Plumber spoils it.

Two independent and apparently unconnected events occurred yesterday.

1. Krissie set off for the first leg of a five-week tour.
2. The plumber came round.

Thinking with the analytical freedom that a day-off can bring to things, I see now that the un-connectedness of the two incidents may be illusory.

Because it started raining this morning - the moment I left the airport after saying goodbye.

To Krissie that is.

I said goodbye to the plumber yesterday.

It always rains when we say goodbye.

Krissie and me, I mean, not the plumber and I.

The plumber always turns up at our house when things are stressful enough already, without the need of adding to it by struggling in French to talk about overflow, washers and U-bend.

The last time this had happened was the day my wife gave birth to our daughter.

Krissie had settled, wisely, for a traditional home birth and she had an eye to combining a long relaxing soak in a hot bath with hanging from the trapeze that we had installed in the living room.

The plumber, after having promised for months to connect the expectant pipes to hopeful bathtub, chose his moment to visit two hours after she had gone into labour.

He arrived at the end of the track that leads to our house, seconds after the midwife.

I think, in fact, that he offered to carry her bag inside – which is why his toolbox ended up by the bedside, and he set off into the bathroom with a stethoscope and blood pressure kit.

It’s interesting watching a plumber work as screams of pain and joy intermittingly issue from an adjoining room.

I have never seen someone solder so swiftly.

This time he turned up to look at a leaking radiator and another that did but doesn’t anymore and which did work but now doesn’t.

Of course the two radiators in question were situated next to the chaos that is Krissie trying to pack for a five-week tour that takes in four different shows, two languages and possibly three seasons.

It was definitely Spring when the plumber turned up – we had the radiators turned off and all the doors open and even he admitted that the temperature was 22 when he had left home.

“But it’s going to snow,” he said.

I looked around and scoffed.

I thought about explaining to him how my writing these rain themed posts in March was in fact responsible for all the sunny days we had been enjoying and that if I could keep up daily content with some sort of rain connection then these would continue – but I sensed by the steam beginning to emanate from Krissie’s ears that it was not the best time.

So we said goodbye.

The plumber and I.

Then we drove to the city and slept.

Krissie and I.

And said goodbye.

And it started raining.