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Last time I was visiting the ERI you had to run the gauntlet of puffers at the door, not sure this will out them off. Some people were on oxygen but still smoking, not to mention the pregnant smokers at the maternity unit.

https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-scotland-scotland-politics-62792258

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The current bathroom refit has officially broken me. 

About a year of being dragged around places from Montrose to Elgin looking at differing wetwall / work surfaces, trying in vain to find a toilet design that doesn't hurt your arse after 10 seconds, debating P-shaped baths vs normal f***ing baths

... then we find out during installation that companies seem incapable of sending you the things that you ordered and paid for, and that we need to rush about throwing a bathroom together, like a kid trying to build a Lego police station using castle battlements that somehow got thrown in instead. 

Evening after evening of navigating soul-destroying industrial estates to find an obscure bit of plastic in shops outsized only by Costco, but don't seem to actually f***ing stock anything.  DIY museums that put things on public display that can't just be obtained at a few days notice because they seem to be sourced from some distant f***ing galaxy where anything you'd think would cost a pound on Earth actually costs £150.  Some sort of Norway Nebula, where meaningful colour names were disbanded a long time ago.  A blizzard-encased Hoth-like world where white is synonymous with a 'Dusky Morn'.  F*** right off.  Stick a giant bit of 'Aged Parchment' up your ar*e and then see how much of a 'Mystical Morning' you'll have then.

I was fine with the bathroom as it was.  A simple shower replacement would have sufficed, but noooooooooo... apparently the (inherited) dolphin tiles had to go. The lino floor? Suddenly a problem overnight despite not a word being said for the past eight years of bathroom bliss.  

At this very moment I'd stick a bucket out in the shed and dig a hole in the floor if it'll make it all stop.  I've been using a bucket to flush my sh*t away for the last two days now anyway, so I'm half acclimatised already.  

I put the blame firmly at the door of that Scottish Home of the Year Brigade, the one with the guy who walks around wearing an imaginary sling, and that toff bint who's probably wanking herself off to the thought of the peasants freezing to death in their boring samey buildings with walls made of boring things, like brick.

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1 hour ago, Hedgecutter said:

The current bathroom refit has officially broken me. 

About a year of being dragged around places from Montrose to Elgin looking at differing wetwall / work surfaces, trying in vain to find a toilet design that doesn't hurt your arse after 10 seconds, debating P-shaped baths vs normal f***ing baths

... then we find out during installation that companies seem incapable of sending you the things that you ordered and paid for, and that we need to rush about throwing a bathroom together, like a kid trying to build a Lego police station using castle battlements that somehow got thrown in instead. 

Evening after evening of navigating soul-destroying industrial estates to find an obscure bit of plastic in shops outsized only by Costco, but don't seem to actually f***ing stock anything.  DIY museums that put things on public display that can't just be obtained at a few days notice because they seem to be sourced from some distant f***ing galaxy where anything you'd think would cost a pound on Earth actually costs £150.  Some sort of Norway Nebula, where meaningful colour names were disbanded a long time ago.  A blizzard-encased Hoth-like world where white is synonymous with a 'Dusky Morn'.  F*** right off.  Stick a giant bit of 'Aged Parchment' up your ar*e and then see how much of a 'Mystical Morning' you'll have then.

I was fine with the bathroom as it was.  A simple shower replacement would have sufficed, but noooooooooo... apparently the (inherited) dolphin tiles had to go. The lino floor? Suddenly a problem overnight despite not a word being said for the past eight years of bathroom bliss.  

At this very moment I'd stick a bucket out in the shed and dig a hole in the floor if it'll make it all stop.  I've been using a bucket to flush my sh*t away for the last two days now anyway, so I'm half acclimatised already.  

I put the blame firmly at the door of that Scottish Home of the Year Brigade, the one with the guy who walks around wearing an imaginary sling, and that toff bint who's probably wanking herself off to the thought of the peasants freezing to death in their boring samey buildings with walls made of boring things, like brick.

And you have the kitchen renovation to look forward to next - nap.

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7 hours ago, Hedgecutter said:

The current bathroom refit has officially broken me. 

About a year of being dragged around places from Montrose to Elgin looking at differing wetwall / work surfaces, trying in vain to find a toilet design that doesn't hurt your arse after 10 seconds,

They do come with seats usually. You don't have to sit on the porcelain. 

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