Not quite on a par with a white Christmas, but it’s exciting to me.
The rest of the family will be relieved (oh, the pun of it) too.
They have never been impressed by my years of attempts to keep the loo going.
While there have been minor triumphs as a result of my elbow-deep dives into the bowels of my cistern and applying metres of dental floss, the loo could be relied on to throw a hissy fit at any family gathering.
But now I can look forward to splashing out on a new toilet, thanks to Dad. (Any splash in the existing loo is only achieved by tipping buckets of water into it. Good for the ageing arm muscles but not exactly visitor friendly.)
Although it is almost 48 years since his death, I will soon receive a little windfall from Dad’s estate (following my stepmother’s death last year).
I like to think Dad might have appreciated my toilet repair toils (but not the accompanying angry swearing).
He was not one for frippery or replacing things unnecessarily.
I have written before of his determination to keep our old Zephyr on the road when its floor resembled a colander and we had to wear tea towels on our heads to avoid becoming instantly grey-haired as dust billowed up through the holes.
Would he think there was an oddly amusing juxtaposition between me buying a new toilet at a time when much of the world is going down the toilet?
What would he make of today’s world? Maybe he would be more optimistic than I am.
Something I am sure he would be appalled by is the lack of manners and propriety evident in many settings. He spent much of his parenthood trying (and failing) to get his offspring to act with decorum.
He was a man of strong opinions, but while he applied nicknames to politicians he disliked, I doubt if he had lived long enough, he would have become a belligerent keyboard warrior.
Dad hated speaking on that new-fangled invention, the crank telephone, but relished any other opportunity to have a yarn with people.
An exception to that was his exasperated exchange with the Bible basher who wanted to leave proselytising material behind after he had already been told to leave our farm.
My father died in 1977. National was in power with Robert Muldoon (Piggy Muldoon, to Dad) at the helm.
I cannot recall him having a nickname for Brian Talboys, the then-deputy prime minister.
Despite being from National, Sir Brian did not seem to attract his ire, possibly because he had a reputation for being dignified and gracious, and relying on argument rather than abuse.
As former National MP and Dunedin mayor the late Richard Walls said once in an interview, Sir Brian could "demolish your argument" but avoid personal attacks on his opponent.
Contrast that with our current deputy PM, Winston Peters, someone who has held similar portfolios.
While Mr Peters can turn on the charm, he becomes tediously hostile when anyone questions his thinking.
It would be hard to imagine Sir Brian putting out a Facebook post describing an RNZ journalist as an "arrogant wokester loser" as Winston Peters did after his interaction with Corin Dann last week.
The post read like something which might have come from Donald Trump, complete with misspelling of Dann’s name but mercifully minus the spraying about of capital letters and exclamation marks.
Do such outbursts from politicians give others the idea that this is an OK way to communicate?
It does nothing to raise the tone when there is considerable concern about the amount of vitriol public servants, local and national politicians and journalists are exposed to online and in person.
Has the immediacy of communication online and distance from other people’s physical presence distorted keyboard warriors’ understanding of the impact of their poisonous outbursts?
People proffering violent abuse online are rarely checked and Parliament seems to have no appetite to do anything meaningful to regulate social media in this regard.
In the absence of that, maybe those inclined to intemperate outbursts should ask themselves if they would say such things to someone in their local dairy, cafe, or other place they might go to regularly.
I am not naive enough to believe people never behave badly in such settings — one of my sons who worked in hospitality for years recounted stories of being sworn at by impatient and unreasonable customers, embarrassingly often of my demographic.
All the same, I wonder if people usually act civilly in those places they visit often.
It would be great to chew the fat over all this with Dad (if his marble count was still OK at 109). I would have to remember not to swear.
• Elspeth McLean is a Dunedin writer.
