The Belgian Plumber

I am visiting my parents for the weekend.  Mr. Waffle is minding the children alone.  My heart bleeds for him. 

My father seems to be recovering apace.  Alas, on the day he emerged from hospital (last Sunday), the downstairs toilet broke.  Obviously, getting a plumber in to fix the toilet is out of the question in boom time Ireland, so for the past week my father has been traipsing up and down to the bathroom, despite the fact that he has strict instructions to only climb the stairs once a day.

Today, I sourced a thingy to attach the handle to the flushing device. Perhaps I do not have a long term future in the plumbing industry as I now have no recollection of what it was called. I removed the lid from the toilet cistern and spent half an hour kneeling on the toilet lid wrestling under water (clean water, I like to think, it goes into the cistern before it goes into the toilet) with a pliers and a singularly unyielding piece of metal while fielding helpful comments from my mother.  I fixed it.  I am very proud.  Let us hope it remains fixed, at the very least, until I leave tomorrow.