Torpid Tales: Chapter 7 Cillit

It seemed so eminently simple. A clipping had been saved. A utilitarian wet room was proposed. Basic materials. Simple attention to detail. Minimal. The architect immediately started to throw up choices: of surface of porosity and of finish. Internal walls to be wrapped first with chicken wire. The plasterers arrived. Liverpool fans the Monday after a match. They spent an age smoothing the mix over the floor making an invisible slope. Four weeks later becoming over familiar with a plastic camping toilet that flopped its contents into the local loo, the shower was turned on. Water gathered on the top of the cement. It continued to gather. The plasterers returned muttering and began again raising the height of the floor another inch or so. Four weeks on. This time the water seemed to know where to go but it still gathered in a small unobliging pool. Furious. The simple lines of the space began to irritate and the walls crack. What to do? The architect ever resourceful suggested masonry paint in a cement colour. The man at the paint shop to his credit laughed. Cement colour paint to paint cement. A sheet of toughened glass was positioned to stop the water and direct it. Apart from the irritation of stubborn limescale traces it seemed to work. The room began to function. The wet room was damp. The simple lines of the space patterned with the marks of stubborn mould. What to do? Cillit?