The Bathroom: Before

There is no-one more sick of hearing about, thinking about, or talking about my bathroom than me. Except possibly my father, who said more than once, “This is killing me!”

And yet here I am, telling its tale, once again.

It all started when my dad looked at my rental ledger and pointed out I’d paid off over $30,000 on someone else’s mortgage and told me it was time to choose a place to live and stop hauling my increasingly large amount of possessions off to a new suburb or city every time I decided to blow my life up.

At that stage I was still living in the rental house B and I moved into in Bathurst when we still thought we were going to get married.

Narrator: They did not get married.

I culled a three bedroom, couple-who-own-two-dogs-and-a-cat life down to a small strata title duplex in Orange and in the time it took the strata manager to approve the renovations required to fix the water damage in the bathroom, I lost one of the dogs to old age, the neighbour sold her property, the strata manager screamed in my face twice, I had to get a solicitor involved, and my dad rued the day he ever asked to look at my rental ledger.

In order to fully explain what those two years were like, I need to show you some pictures. Before viewing them, please put on the sunglasses provided, and familiarise yourself with the location of the sick bag, which can be found in the pocket of the seat in front of you.


Oh hey, cream walls and tiny pink tiles!

See the patches of missing tiles? By the end, tiles were just coming up when I walked across the floor.

The things you can’t see here because of a forgiving filter are scorch marks on the vanity and the toilet, which was prone to lime buildup, which my nieces loudly told me was “gross” every time they visited.

This wasn’t even the worst part. Please, follow me in a little further so we can look at the health hazard that was allegedly the shower:


Rustic feature tiles! Creeping mold that I could never get rid of because the grout around the tiles had disintegrated so badly that the floor was always damp! A single towel rail which made me feel like I was destined to die alone every time I looked at it! The drain in the shower which at this stage was so badly damaged that when it was removed, the hole it was sitting in was twice as big as it should’ve been! The entire sub-floor which was being held together by the tile bed alone, which we discovered when my builder fell through it! That shower screen!

Nineties interior design has a lot to answer for, although I’m not sure the grunge aesthetic was intentional.

At this stage, the last day of June, I was beyond ready to never see my bathroom again. Little did I know what the next six weeks would hold!

Please tune in for that exciting installment tomorrow, same time, same channel.

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