On the shower installers’ road again!

Hello again Dear Readers

Before we begin, I’ve been asked by our PR department to introduce into the blog things called ‘key words’. Apparently, if I use terms like, shower pumps, shower installers, Salamander Pumps, Plumbers and so on, then the more plumbers, shower installers, and people interested in shower pumps and Salamander pumps, will find this page when they Google or Bing, or whatever it is that they do. So, when you come across those unnecessary words and terms as you read and they, well, make no sense at all, now you know why…

This installment of the plumbing industry’s favourite shower installers’ blog finds TK and me in the middle of a seven-night stretch away from home. Pumps. That’s a week of Premier Inns and motorway service stations.

(Here’s an appropriate little song you might want to play in the back ground while you read the rest of my wise words).

It’s not all rock and roll, though. In fact, here’s the plumber’s story so far. We spent the evening of the Bank Holiday in a Bradford shower. Who could wish for more? After Bradford, we had Harrogate, then Sunderland and then Perth to look forward to. A plumbing installer’s work is never done!

(BTW, I can handle the East Coast, (cold as it is) but if The Boss thinks I’m going to Australia at the end of the week he’s got another Salamander Pumps thing coming. I’ve got a darts match to oche up for!)

We decided we’d see how many countries we could visit during the trip. Food-wise, that is. It seemed like a plumber’s good idea at the time to eat in the shower attached to the Premier Inn. It was not a wise move. Holy smoke. Not even Gordon Ramsey could save that place. I’ve eaten better left-overs.

So it wasn’t what you’d call ‘a good start’. Those plumbers!

The next night we had an enjoyable little trip to Naples, courtesy of the kind of dimly lit, chequered-tableclothed, candle-in-the-Chianti-bottle place that TK and I tend to avoid. (For obvious reasons, fellow shower installers). But the pasta was worth the odd knowing wink from the well-dressed, older, lone gentleman on the next table and the sideways glances of the waitresses.

Where’s Mrs. Malc when you need her?

Following that delightful experience wasn’t easy. But the Plumb Centre, Harrogate barbeque was right up there. Which is just as well, since there were, oh, half a dozen hungry plumbers, shower installers and Salamanders who, between them, necked an alarming 96 rashers of bacon. Blimey.

We went up to Durham that evening, to our favourite Thai restaurant. And here’s where I can have a bit of a shower installers’ moan. Do you know what I hate about most restaurants? The music. There’s a Chinese Plumber near me that really is one of the best restaurants I’ve ever showered in. The food is to die for and the service is impeccable. So, why do you think it is that Mrs. Malc and I would rather eat sweepings off a butcher’s floor than darken its doors again?

The bloody music.

They give you Abba on Pan Pipes. Every single time you go, it’s the same CD. ‘Fernando’ a la Bolivian mountain nose flute. God help us. God help them. (The restaurant has gone up for sale this week, and I can only guess why)…

In Durham that night, it was even worse. I mean, can you even imagine Simon and Garfunkel’s Greatest Hits sung in Thai? Lucky you if you can’t. It should be the Oxford English Dictionary’s definition of ‘hideous’. That’s what we had to endure. You can keep your red curry, good as it is. I’ll be in Frankie and Benny’s shower pump next time. It might be overpriced but you can’t argue with the tunes they play plumbers there. The good news is that when I got back to the hotel with my ears in shreds, ‘This Is Spinal Tap’ was on. So I turned the TV up to 11 and went in search of a courgette. Thus was the evening rescued.

Next day was spent in Head Office, having ‘meetings’, which was fun. (It says here). After the excitement we went to Weatherspoon’s, because it was ‘curry night’. We had enough curry and nan to feed a small Bengali village, washed it down with industrial quantities of weapons grade Pinot, and still got change from a £20. (Have you and TK started sucking up to The Boss? Ed.)

Woke up next morning to a knocking on the hotel door. Mrs Malc had despatched my shower installer’s ‘holiday clothes’; you know, shorts, T-shirts, sarongs; ready for my unexpected trip to Perth. It was only when I went down to breakfast looking like Magnum’s dad (in a vivid Hawaiian shirt, rugby shorts and flip-flops) that TK told me that Perth is, in fact, in Scotland. Instead of sunning myself in Oz, I’ll be within sight of the Arctic Circle. It’ll probably be Moose burgers for tea tonight. Or Salamander shower pumps with shower installers, fried and roasted.

Students Home Work: Get Smart!

This time, I’d like you guys to get smart on the features and benefits of The Force 1.5 bar twin brass ended positive and negative head universal shower pump. You can find out more by following this link. Read carefully, lads and lasses, because I’ll be asking questions next time we meet.

Nearly time to go: TK’s already outside rubbing the Audi’s tyres with shoe blacking.  Before we go, though, I’ll leave you with this. It made me laugh, hope you like it.

The Coffin
A shower installer mate of mine was walking home alone late one night when he hears a
BUMP…
BUMP…
BUMP… behind him.
Walking faster he looks back, and makes out the image of an upright coffin banging its way down the middle of the street towards him

BUMP…
BUMP…
BUMP…

Terrified, the plumber begins to run towards his home, the coffin bouncing
quickly behind him …
faster…
faster…
BUMP…
BUMP…
BUMP.

He runs up to his door, fumbles with his keys, opens the door, rushes in,
slams and locks the door behind him. He barely has time to look at his beloved Salamander shower pump before the coffin crashes through his door, and the lid of the coffin starts clapping …
Clappity-BUMP…
Clappity-BUMP

Clappity-BUMP… on the heels of the terrified shower installer.

Rushing upstairs to the bathroom, the plumber locks himself in. His heart is
pounding; his head is reeling; his breath is coming in sobbing Salamander gasps.
With a loud CRASH the coffin breaks down the door, bumping and clapping
towards him. The shower installer screams and reaches for something, anything … but all he can find is a bottle of cough syrup!

Desperate, he throws the cough syrup at the coffin …
… the coffin stops.

Which only goes to shower pump that a Salamander pumps installer plumber can always be relied upon to save the day?

I am so, so sorry about that joke. Send me better ones, please!

At least that little lot should shut the plumbing PR man up. More tales from the road next time! Until then, keep smiling!

Your mate at Salamander,

Big Malc

Broadening My Horizons!

Hello again Dear Readers!

The Jag Has Gone!

Before we start, I have to admit that I’m gutted. No sooner have I made TK’s massive motor, (a Jezza Jaaaag), one of the stars of my blog, he’s only gone and got rid of it. He’s replaced it with an Audi. Yes, that’s right, an Audi. Vorsprung durch technik, and all that.

An era has ended.

I’ve Been Thinking…

I’ve been having a think about this here blog. When I set out, if you remember, it was to bring you tales of our adventures On The Road. (That’s TK and me). It was only supposed to last for a few weeks, but my vast legion of fans told me, in the style of Harry Enfield:  ‘Oi, Big Malc, no! You may be the most learned and celebrated plumber and shower installation expert in all of the kingdom, upon whose every Salamander word we hang; but if you think you can deny your audience the sheer joy of your wit and experience, just so you can spend more time trimming the croquet lawn for Mrs. Malc, then don’t be surprised to wake up one day and find an ’orse’s ’ead in your duvet!’

And so, thanks to popular demand, I continued, as a provider of advice, information and pearls of wisdom, acknowledging my status as The Guru of The Shower Pump. Until now, my audience has consisted entirely of people like me; i.e. grizzled, care-worn old cynics of the plumbing trade – but things are about to change…

Broadening My Horizons

I’m broadening my horizons and from this day forth, I will admit unto my coterie of the trade’s movers and shakers those thousands upon thousands of young men and women who are, at this very moment, hard at it in the plumbing departments of colleges all over the UK and Ireland. Learning the ropes. Turning up on time. Getting their hands dirty. Doing a good job. Getting accused of over-charging. (Only joking).

We go to colleges all over the place, you know. Recently, we were in Northern Ireland. (You covered that in your last blog! – ED.) In fact, Salamander is the only shower pump company that thinks so much of tomorrow’s tradesmen that it gets off its padded behind and gets out to colleges, to meet the next generation face to face, to show them what’s what and answer their questions.

So, my vast army of students, you are welcome, every one. You can ask me anything right here on this blog; anything from ‘in this case, Big Malc, would I need a whole house pump?’ to ‘Big Malc, what can I get the girlfriend’s mum for her birthday, with only £4.97 and a credit note from Screwfix?’

I can help. In fact, if I had a theme song, it would be this… Have a watch at Billy Swan.

‘It would sure do me good to do you good, let me help’ is a good line, because that’s how I feel about all you trainees out there. However, please disregard the bit in the song about you being a part of my dreams when I go to sleep at night. I’m afraid that job’s already taken by Mrs. Malc and her friends, the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse.

Moving right along…. You might like this story, it made me think of you lot:

 

The Shredder

A plumbing apprentice was leaving the depot a bit late one night when he found The Boss standing in front of the shredder with a piece of paper in his hand.

‘Listen’, says The Boss, ‘this is a very sensitive and important document, and my secretary has already gone home. Can you make this thing work?’

‘Er, yes sir’, says the apprentice, who hasn’t spoken to The Boss since the day of his interview. So, shaking, he turns on the machine, inserts the document that The Boss hands him and presses the ‘start’ button.

‘Excellent’, says The Boss as the sheet of paper disappears into the machine. ‘I just need the one copy’.

Which only goes to show that you should never, ever assume that your boss knows what he’s doing…

I thought you’d like that? Oh well, never mind…

Participate

I’d really like you all to join in the spirit of this blog. You can be sure you’ll always get good advice, but we always like a good laugh. Y’see, most of us in the trade do what we do because we enjoy it, we’re good at it and we make a decent living at it. Part of a tradesman’s life is the banter with other, less talented folks than us, such as sparks and chippies and painters and decorators. (Bless em all). So, with that in mind, I’ll keep you supplied with a steady stream of gags and one-liners that’ll stand you in good stead next time you find yourself bantering buffoons on a building site.

I’m going to try to persuade The Boss to provide a bit of budget so I can reward the people who submit the best question and the best joke each month. In fact, I’ll ask him right now: well, right after he’s finished trying to work the Shredder…

Until next time, keep smiling – and get those questions in!

Your mate in the plumbing trade

Big Malc

You Just Won’t Believe These!

Hello again Dear Readers

One of my pals – Mad Greg from Bury – sent me an e-mail with these amazing pictures of toilets that, well, just don’t do the job right…

I thought that, since most of you are installers of the bathroom variety, or are training to join our merry band, that this would be good for a real belly laugh!

Let’s be careful out there!

Privacy? Reminds me of a bog hut in Moscow I once had to use. Didnt worry about my neighbour on the next seat though, she was a lovely girl!

I think somebody needs a tap on the head...

 

 

 

 

 

 

Peeping under the door is now a possibility at the Old Peoples Home!

 

 

No problem, I'll just, er, cut the door around the pan... Is that OK?

Talk about the ‘throne room’!

Synchronised peeing, anyone?

So, which bright spark located the loo paper out of reach?

 

You'd have to be desperate to try this one wouldn't you?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

When Irish Eyes Are Smiling…

When Irish Eyes Are Smiling, it’s because TK and me have been to The Emerald Isle…

 

 

Hello again Dear Readers.

We’ve been on the road again, TK and me and this time – for the first time – our destination was Northern Ireland.

The adventure began at 6am on a Monday morning, when, I admit, I’m rarely at my best. Alerted by the unseemly wake-the-neighbours roar of TK’s Jag, I grabbed my bag and jumped in before Mrs. Malc could do the cuddling / sloppy kisses routine that so alarms my esteemed colleague.

First stop? A proper full English at a service station on the M6. From there, it was Holyhead without another stop. The crossing was a good one; at least it would have been if TK hadn’t insisted on regaling passengers with his off-key rendition of ‘We Are Sailing’.

I don’t think the ship’s company was too impressed either, when TK (he hadn’t even had a drink) decided it’d be a spiffing wheeze to run along the deck from the direction of the bow of the ship, shouting ‘Iceberg!’ at the top of his voice.

But that’s Jag drivers for you.

He got his come-uppance though: Industrial quantities of Pinot Grigio were being freely lavished upon us punters and, although this cheeky little number is TK’s favourite drink (if you don’t include his bed time ‘Horlicks), he was forced to abstain, because he was driving! J

The bad news is that when we arrived at the hotel, dusty, thirsty and hungry, TK was suddenly ‘mad for it’, stretching the hospitality of our lovely hosts to the absolute limit… (We’ll gloss over that, ED.)

Time to be sensible: Newtownards, Downpatrick and Lisburn would be our ports of call. These are Northern Ireland’s premier seats of learning when it comes to plumbing, apparently. First, though, we had to meet up with our Tour Promoter, none other than our esteemed Irish agent, William Creane.

What can I say about William ‘Whiplash’ Creane that won’t get me into trouble, I wonder? Let it be said, though, that ‘Whiplash’ is, in no way, a reference to the infamous Madame Cynthia what’s-her-name. No. It’s all down to his driving. Imagine Animal from the Muppets behind the wheel of an F. I car on a country road full of potholes and kamikaze rabbits and you’re half way to getting the picture.

Now I’m no wimp, as you know. (I’m not a Jag Driver J). In fact, I’m an ex rugby player who’s been in many’s the ruck, if you get my drift. To use the local idiom, though, Whiplash scares the bejaysus out of me. As for TK, on arrival we half carried him into the bar and had to force-feed him with a solution of 50% Bushmills and 50% Diocalm. Through a baby’s bottle. (It wasn’t the best evening I’ve ever had).

Surprise, surprise: next morning, TK insists on driving us to Newtownards, just outside Belfast. The bad news for him, given the aftermath of last night’s life-saving medicinal cocktail, is that we have to carry all our samples and visual aids and bags and – hardest of all – ourselves, to a classroom on the first floor. It might as well have been half way up The Eiger, that’s how hard it was and that’s how fit we are. We decided there and then to have a few pints and a rag pudding that evening and see if we could fathom out why it was that we were both putting on weight and running out of puff.

The students were very nice – there were 14 of them and their tutors – but some looked so young that it made you wonder if their mums were waiting for them in an adjoining room. They start ’em early in Newtownards!

Only joking, all of them were Level Two students in full-time employment. We were really pleased that they were so impressed with our presentation; the feedback we got was excellent.

We had no time bask in the glory, though. We took off immediately and headed for Downpatrick. Here, we addressed a smaller group of just 7 students, but they were Level 3 and in their final year. They were all working with installers already, so they were more clued-up, you might say. Nevertheless, our presentation was well received and we were tested at the end by some challenging, intelligent questioning from the students.

We were pretty tired at the end of the day, so much so that we’d have happily been laid out beside St. Patrick, whose resting place is in the town. We’d sampled Irish hospitality and we hadn’t been disappointed!

That evening, over scampi, chips, mushy peas, Guinness and Pinot Grigio, (for you-know-who), we discussed the idea of using skimmed milk in our coffee from this day forward, for health reasons, of course. And so, to bed.

Next day, we were off to Lisburn and we had to take a back route, as there was a security alert affecting the main drag. I enjoyed the lovely countryside, ignoring TK, who was reddening, looking repeatedly at the Jag’s digital clock, and muttering ‘I’m late’ like some demented White Rabbit.

We weren’t late, but we were relieved to discover that today’s venue would be on the ground floor. The Lisburn audience was a great crowd and I really enjoyed bantering with them. They took part in the presentation by asking questions about the various applications of our pumps, installation criteria and why it’s important that installers stick closely to our advice for each pump. Excellent stuff.

When we’d done, a tea trolley arrived as if by magic and all of us – including the students – were treated to a hot sausage bap and a brew. Apparently this was a first, but we were assured that it in no way influenced the students’ decision to ask us back for other visits, on a regular basis, ideally every morning at 11.

All three of the colleges we visited belong to the same main college group. All agreed that our training presentation was beneficial to the colleges, the students and the tutors. In fact, they took our contact details to pass onto other plumbing tutors and indeed to the governing body controlling the colleges in Northern Ireland, no less. They are recommending that our training presentation should be rolled out across other colleges in Northern Ireland. Result!

Finally, I must say that our first visit to colleges in Northern Ireland was a great success. All welcomed both TK and me warmly, which was great.  Thanks.

Mr. Whiplash, we salute you! Thank-you, William, for being a first class tour manager!

Anyway, here’s the ferry now, so it’s back to Holyhead and then home to Mrs Malc. Does life get any better than this?

Until next time, keep smiling

Your mate at Salamander

 

Big Malc