It’s becoming increasingly obvious that despite our best efforts, one simple DIY job will generally spawn several more; when this principle is combined with the immutable law that no DIY job is as simple as it first appears, you have a rule or constant that indicates that a man’s work is never done. Worse, the more you try, the more you create even more work for yourself.

Over the last couple weeks I have therefore been testing the obvious possibility that by doing as little as possible, one can create a situation where nothing needs to be done, thereby eliminating the requirement to expend superfluous energy in futile endeavour.

This is all well and good, but clearly the cosmos has other plans. That thing where one job will create several more will throw up a situation where you just can’t not take action, despite your better instincts.

This is what happened today at Corner Cottage. Some weeks ago, you may remember, we invested in reverse-cycle air conditioning in the house and shed – I mean ‘studio’. It’s one reason we haven’t yet acted on our wish to install a wood-burner in the fireplace – we’re so nice and toasty of a night, the fire is really just for show (and of course, experiments with combustible structures).

Anyway, when the aircon was installed in the ‘studio’, we ran into something of a problem. The compressor and related gubbins sat outside on the concrete slab designed for the purpose, but the various tubes and wires connecting it to the wall unit inside found themselves in direct conflict with the guttering that funnels rainwater from the roof.

Our aircon installer, being a practical man, removed the long cross-pipe that transferred the drainings from the east roof across the back of the ‘studio’ to join that from the west, and then, being an aircon guy and not a guttering guy, left it in this state of dismantlement for someone else to remantle. The aircon was in, with a neat ducting and cover, but the guttering was out.

All well and good. The PVC piping slept for a month or so in a bed of ivy; there was little or no rain, so no problem. The thought of it – ‘someone should do something’ – lingered in the ether, particularly in those moments before sleep or on waking in the wee hours. But then today, there was a forecast of precipitation, and the prospect of water gushing off the ‘studio’ roof in a chaotic, untrammelled fashion, proved too much. Something not only had to be done, but had to be done today.

I had a quick look at the situation. The cross-pipe would need to be restored, but with additional accommodation for the aircon ducting. I was aware that all manner of PVC joints and junctions, doglegs and step-downs, were available; I took a quick measurement of the diameter (90mm, since you ask) and headed off to the building supply emporium with a shopping list in my head and some questions for the man behind the counter.

Something of a hitch ensued. Not only are the PVC pipes available in various diameters, but the associated fittings also come with various combinations of ‘male’ and ‘female’ endings. This terminology, which would probably not be coined today, comes up quite often in the world of fittings and fandangos, plugs and sockets, taps and dies – and merely denotes that one bit fits inside another. Nothing sexy about that at all.

But I hadn’t taken note of whether my existing bits and bobs were M or F, even if I did have one number in mind, which was 90mm. So I gathered up a couple of things I thought looked about right, and a couple more that appeared useful, and headed for the counter.

The question I had was, how do you join PVC piping in a watertight manner? And I was not disappointed. The man gave me a small jar of blue goo marked ‘POISON’.
“Handle with care – it’s smelly stuff, very toxic – keep out of the reach of kiddies.”
“Gosh – right – OK.”
He produced a small red jar of the same proportions as the blue.
“You need to brush this primer on the joint first. Very toxic, smells terrible. Let it dry, then put the blue stuff on both parts and  . . . they bond.”
“Prime, dry, blue, bond – got it.”
“And be very, very careful – never let the red and the blue mix while in liquid form – makes something like mustard gas. It’ll kill ya.”
“Wow – OK, maximum care. Will do.”

Anyway, I’ll spare you the ins and outs of what ensued. Suffice to say, nearly everything fitted, although I had to improvise by drafting in an old and filthy length of pipe to satisfy the, er . . . femininity of two joints that should have been of a more masculine bent. You can see that bit quite clearly.

Also, the bit that has to go over the aircon ducting cover is a tight fit – I had to move the cover downward to ensure even the slightest sloping angle from the gutter, secure in the knowledge that a system doesn’t yet exist to compel water to flow uphill. My young assistant and I were required to put up and pull down bits of pipe a few times to get everything married up, which was tedious and required at least one tea break.

But the prospect of rain arriving at any moment drove us onward and as night was falling, it was done at last: not pretty, but functional. And as I sit typing away, I can hear a definite patter of raindrops outside. It’s good to know the ‘studio’ roof is properly guttered; water will be suitably directed into the drains and not into undermining the foundations.

In the fulness of time, I want to install a tank to capture this run-off for use in the garden. And when that day comes, we have knowledge of blue goo and red primer; of PVC fittings with both XX and XY chromosomes; and of how long to budget for a simple DIY task that will be less simple than it appears — and for the two or three jobs that task will create.