Water companies may be taking the pee but I’m the one left bathing in it

As he endeavours to save the planet by using less H2O, Will Gore makes some unpalatable choices

Anyone fancy a swim? The problems with Britain’s H2O are endemic, and present more than just one ‘big job’ (Getty/iStock)

Thames Water water everywhere – it’s enough to drive you to drink. Though actually, to be fair to the challenged Thames Water, they only provide me with my sewerage, not my drinking water, so the current trickle of water down the hill outside my house may not be their fault after all.

There seems to have been no end of trouble with the water pipes round my way over the past few years, which at least goes to show that the problems with Britain’s H2O are endemic, rather than the preserve of a single, badly-run company. Woo-hoo! Every few months, a stream appears at the side of my road, usually followed by the appearance of a desultory digger and some temporary traffic lights that apparently operate on the same random principles as a monkey (or me) with a Rubik’s cube.

If truth be known, I’m a little scared of water. I once thought I was going to drown in a swimming pool when I got stuck in a rubber ring with my head underwater. And after a previous home flooded, I spent the remaining two years of my time there dreading a heavy cloudburst. In our current place, we’ve twice found rain sneaking its way through a supposedly sealed double-glazing unit. And these are all minor challenges in the grand scheme of watery disasters.

Now, of course, we all have something else to fear when it comes to water: rising prices. This appears largely to be a result of a long-term failure of planning and investment, which means water companies don’t collect enough water, and then let it escape from ancient pipes once they do get hold of it. Luckily, company bosses seem to be trousering the kind of salaries that mean they’re immune to feeling the pinch themselves; but for everyone else, it’s yet more pressure on the monthly outgoings.

Irrespective of the money factor, using less water is important in the battle to combat the climate crisis (which makes the water companies’ failure to fix leaks all the more infuriating). I was a fairly early adopter of water-saving measures, largely as a result of a TV series I watched in about 1992, in which families from around Europe competed to be the most eco-friendly.

It made a big impression on my 13-year-old self – mainly because I fancied the girl from the Swedish family, but also because it was the first time I’d realised how perilous was the state of our environment. Only washing my jeans after an absolute minimum of seven days’ wear seemed like an easy way to make a difference.

These days I go all in to keep my water use at home to a minimum. The guttering and water butt I attached to the shed has been a godsend in our front garden. Undrunk water bottles brought home from school by the kids will be tipped into flower pots. Lavatories need only be flushed for what my grandad charmingly referred to as “big jobs” – at least at night. And when my children have a bath, I’ll merrily use their water once they’re out, topped up with some extra hot if I want to be indulgent.

I’m well aware that some of these measures are not to everyone’s liking. You might even wonder whether my eight-year-old son is always telling the truth when he assures me with an innocent smile that he hasn’t weed in the tub before I decide to reuse his moderately murky water. But I always reassure myself that a dash of child’s urine in the bath is more or less akin to homeopathy: any impact is psychosomatic.

It’s certainly less concerning than encountering a large turd that has been pumped into the sea in one of the water companies’ regular sewage dumps. That kind of pollution is not only intrinsically revolting but also has the additional negative consequence of giving wild swimmers something else to write about.

Another way I’ve found to save water is to drink gin instead. I’ll even stick a bottle in the freezer to save making ice from the precious liquid that must remain firmly in the pipes. If that’s not doing my bit to save the planet (if not my bank balance), I don’t know what is. So please, turn off your tap and join me in a glass of something stronger than Thames Water can supply. Cheers!