vlad.tribnet.com / Issue #160 / Social life / Reading article...

My six-month-old son started sleeping through the night about a month ago. But despite this joyous development, I’m still not getting enough sleep.

Instead of being woken by the whimpers of a hungry babe, I’m dragged out of slumber by my highly-tuned senses responding to an even more urgent sound. Water. Running water. Coming out of a tap.

It’ happens maybe four or five times a week. Usually in the small hours — 3 a.m., 4 a.m. — the permanently open faucets suddenly blow and sputter into life, yielding a few precious hours of ice-cold water.

My excitement knows no bounds. I can do the dishes, wash the fruit and vegetables, prepare the dinner, clean the sadly under-used bathroom and, if I’m quick, whisk a load of washing through the fast cycle. And all before 5 a.m.

Within the space of a month, this regime has turned me from a cheerful, generous, socially responsible individual into a begrudging, scrounging, wasteful wretch. I scowl at friends who have cold water a couple of times a week, but hot water ALL THE TIME. I scrounge off those blessed with constant supplies through regular sessions with their bath tubs and washing machines. And I behave with irresponsible abandon with the little water that we do have: When there’s hot (about three days in 10), I’ll take three baths a day in the pathetic hope that that just-soaked feeling will last for the next week. It never does.

Saddest of all, when the cold water is on, I flush the toilet for no reason at all — just for the simple pleasure of seeing it work.

Now, in the spirit of this column, there must be an upside to this situation. (Power cuts were positively enjoyable because they gave you an excuse to read. No electricity? Brilliant. Just settle down on the sofa with a couple of candles and a good book.)

But this one has exhausted my creative optimism. True, it has made me into the most efficient housekeeper I’ve ever been. (When did you ever get your chores done by 5 a.m.?) But you know what? I’d still rather have the water. Just for a couple of sensibly timed, predictable hours a day. And then I would say again, with perfect conviction, I love it really.