Ode to my portaloo 

O portaloo. O portaloo.
It’s sad to see the back of you

Your inky depths of lurid blue

I hold so dear 

 

O portaloo. O portaloo.

I’ll never do another poo

And try in vain to flush it through

To leave it clear

 

In the house I have, brand new,

A bathroom; shower, sink and loo,

I have no further use for you,

Or you for I, I fear.

 

It’s been a week of much action. Lights are on, showers in, Loos went in eventually, wood floor in. Access ramp being built, visit from building control officer, visit from Ronnie digger driver to plan the landscaping, doors going in.  Slate tiles on floor finished. 

 
 It’s actually been quite fun building a house this week. And it’s only Wednesday. We are back up at the weekend to see how progress is rest of the week.  

    
    
   

Portaloo Humour

I had a little giggle today and I thought I’d share it with you. 

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I have a portaloo. I should have organised it myself but Builder#3 offered to arrange it and it was one less thing on the to do list. I use the portaloo sometimes but generally I wander up to my neighbour the fisherman’s barn and use his outside loo, which he very kindly offered me the use of. It seems to double as his cold store and contains shelves  of cans of beer and bottles of cider, however it isn’t the booze that’s the main attraction to me. It’s the flush and the hot and cold running water. 

All was going well with the portaloo until Builder#4 came on site to do the plaster-boarding. Now it wasn’t that there were too many people on site – Builder#4 and his two guys may have been staying over in a caravan in site but they arriving Monday afternoons and generally leaving by Wednesday. 

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But he complained a lot about the state of the loo. I kept calling Builder#3 to try and sort it out. I wasn’t clear whether it was being emptied and what the problem was. 

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Well not until today. Today the man came to clear it out and I discovered that the reason the loo was in a state was because it was blocking because Builder#4’s baby wipes are blocking the pipes. 

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Builder#3’s chaps, cladding the house come midge, come shine, come biblical rainstorm, were beside themselves with glee. 

‘Just to let you know that if you do use baby wipes please put them in a seperate bin’ I said to them. 

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‘We don’t use baby wipes’ yelled one of them from the scaffolding. 

‘We use sandpaper’. 

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Toilet humour, you might say.