… from a Small City: Travels In Small-Town New Zealand

… from a Small City: Travels In Small-Town New Zealand is a delightful jaunt around the backroads and towns of Otago and Southland. Rediscovering and exploring the quirks, charms, curiosities and forgotten points of interest of small-town Otago – Southland.

Daily Photo – Travels in small-town New Zealand (ii)

My departure the next day was delayed. This was due to a drip in the shower that had started several days earlier. It began as nothing more than something that could happily be ignored. However, over the preceding 24 hours, it had gone from a minor drip to a continuous dribble, and now was a steady trickle.

Here, in the clear light of morning, summoning all my limited plumbing knowledge, I deduced three things. Firstly, that it would need to be fixed. Secondly, that it was beyond my very limited capabilities. And finally, that it would require the services of a plumber. Within the hour, a guy named Phil or Greg or something arrived, inspected the shower, and within minutes was pulling all sorts of fancy tools out of his truck (muttering to himself, ‘This could get gnarly’), taking off the mixer and opening up some of the pipework in the wall.

This pleased me, as it confirmed that this wasn’t something I should be attempting myself. I learned this lesson some years earlier when the ballcock on our header tank, which sits in the roof, seemed to be constantly running. Thinking this would only be a matter of making a small tweak, I went and investigated, making some minor adjustments. I was so pleased with my efforts, I informed my wife that I would show off my handiwork to a plumber. He arrived and was equally impressed, so impressed he looked at it for hours, finally making me promise to both my wife and himself that I would never touch anything involving plumbing or electricity ever again. And I never have.

While all this was going on, I filled the time by making cups of coffee, read the newspaper, studied my map and pretended to understand I knew what he was talking about. 

Eventually, after much muttering, clanking, and rummaging through tools that looked like they belonged in an operating theatre rather than a bathroom, he announced that the job was done. The leak was no more. He packed up his gear, gave me a cheerful nod, and drove off, leaving me standing there feeling oddly triumphant, despite having contributed absolutely nothing to the process. 

I didn’t hang around. Instead of quietly slipping my car out onto the Dunedin streets in the early morning hours as intended, I hurriedly dumped everything on the backseat and made car-tyre screeching sounds as I set off for State Highway One, heading south.