Caveat Emptor — The En Suite Bathroom

Caveat emptor is a refrain that has echoed in my mind with every room of this older house we’ve been restoring and renovating over the past year. Surely, even the most cynical lawmakers could not have foreseen just how much amateur tampering could be concealed beneath thick layers of cheap paint, bad tiling, Prestik, super glue and silicone. But nowhere was the deceit more brazen than in the en suite bathroom, which we attempted to convert into an open-plan shower room.

We hated the oversized corner bath from the start. Who was meant to bathe in it — the entire family at once? Or was it installed with more amorous ambitions in mind? Threesomes, foursomes… moresomes?

The brief

Our brief to the designer was basic and — we thought — simple:
Replace the bath with an open-plan shower, accessible to the frail or elderly in wheelchairs, or those needing assistance. Install a rain shower at a comfortable height for tall people, plus a height-adjustable handheld faucet for those who prefer sitting while showering. Keep the existing water supply and outlet pipes in place — we don’t believe in meddling with the structure unnecessarily. (That decision would backfire spectacularly.)
The enormous corner basin had to go — replaced with a more compact unit raised off the floor on four sleek stainless steel legs. The elevation helps prevent unseen water damage from sneaking in underneath. Not quite wall-mounted, but certainly more elegant and practical than its hulking predecessor. The new toilet was to be installed on a 10 cm platform — the standard height for wheelchair users.

By now, you may be wondering about our unusually specific requirements. No, we aren’t in wheelchairs and don’t yet need bathroom assistance — but we are getting older and prefer to plan ahead. Besides, modern shower stalls are becoming so compact that it’s hard to turn around, bend down, or lift a limb without bruising yourself or snapping a fingernail. Showerheads are so low that anyone taller than 1.6 m must crouch to get wet, and let’s face it — standard toilet heights are uncomfortably low for taller folks or stiff knees. Even I, at 1.62 m on a good-back day, resent having to hug my knees just to sit down.

It was only after removing the bath and old tiles that we discovered the toilet had been relocated in a previous remodel, and the plumbing had been subjected to some shockingly cheap DIY to accommodate that enormous bath.

The tiling on the bath

Tiling a curved wall properly requires expertise: the right materials, a prepped surface, and precise cuts. One look at the cracked, bulging tiles says it all.

The holey wall

To our horror, a hole in the outside wall — previously hidden behind the bath indoors and concealed by a metal plate among the garden bushes — was exposed. An outlet pipe had been routed from the bath, through this hole, to the outside drain. No slope, no logic — just a slow-draining pipe leading nowhere useful. We had to replace some of the external pipes, install a proper drain inside for the shower, waterproof the wall, and patch the gaping hole — another unplanned cost. And of course, everything had to pause until the wall dried completely before the new shower could be installed.

Oh, and I mustn’t forget the rubbish left behind under the bath. Cement lumps, plastic wrappers, bottles, paper bags — the sort of detritus that would make any colony of ants or mice ecstatic. We should count ourselves lucky that the metal plate at least kept the critters out.

The holey floor

Confession: we did find the toilet’s location a little odd — very close to the door, visible from inside the room, and oddly placed against an interior wall. But as non-builders, and thinking we were preserving the “original plumbing,” we let it be. (This was that spectacular backfire I mentioned earlier.) By the time we realised the error, it was too late to undo the changes without eye-watering expense. On the plus side, the toilet is easy to find in the middle of the night.

Once the crew started removing the old, crumbling cement to tile the floor, we realised we had been walking on holey ground — literally. A shallow trench had been dug for a new pipe and topped with a whisper-thin layer of cement and tiles. How it hadn’t cracked or collapsed, we’ll never know. Holy intervention? Or just dumb luck? That corner hadn’t seen much use this past year — if it had, someone could have broken a leg. Or worse.

So, more delays: the trench had to be filled properly and allowed to dry before tiling could begin.

Adding insult to injury

To be fair, not all the mistakes were inherited. We made a few of our own. That cute little platform beneath the toilet? It has corners sharp enough to slice your socks. We should have asked the crew to round them off. But we’re owning this error, not hiding it. Clear silicone corner covers are now on order and will be proudly, visibly installed. In the interim, a pool noodle is very handy in these situations…

At least we learn from our mistakes

Despite all the setbacks, we’re pressing ahead with plans to renovate the second bathroom and the shower in the outbuilding. This time, however, we’ll strip everything — tiles, fittings, all of it — before even thinking about a layout.

Let this be a cautionary tale for prospective buyers: don’t trust what’s under the paint or behind the walls. Caveat emptor, indeed.

“After photos” to follow when all the old fittings have been replaced and the dust has settled.