… with anything much, when there is water dripping through the ceiling, and the plumber clonking about detectively.
With November imminent, it was appropriate to groan and say, Here we go again, and cut out paper. Every year the most tiresome part is trying to squeeze uniqueness into a hundred squares, each no more than an inch and a half on a side, when there is barely room to turn the scissors (the large squares are much easier). So I applied the worst-first rule.
Seventy-five minuscule squares later, and with a shiny new ballcock in situ, that seems to have been a sound decision.