I knew it couldn't last! I bloody knew it!
The curse of the electric windows on Mrs S's Ferrari-Royce-Standard.Ten-Punto has spread like a lava stream to the infrastructure of Scroblene Turrets!
Blasted drains and I have a chequered history, they get in the way, they block, they hurt me seriously. (I once dropped a heavy concrete block in the manhole, which fortunately didn't break, because my finger luckily cushioned it against the internal brick chamber. It was the closest to fainting I've ever been, and even Mrs S was a bit concerned...)
Anyhow, as I mentioned only a few days ago, a damn good talking to does the trick to car windows. And now it does to drains!
Serious blockment of turdal channels caused me to truncate (What! Editor.), a business trip today, to sort it all out. So I marched into B and Q and bought a set of drain rods for less than £18, which I though was a fair bargain.
When I got home, (truncated by now), I donned the lead lined sterile suit, sprayed Dettol everywhere, and arranged all the tools and rods where I could grab them and attack the monster, go for the throat, strangle the life from the gremlins lurking among the detritus, break the hold on water-borne disease for ever and save the world.
And it was ever thus.
Just a few signs of the problem this morning were there! All clear! All clean! All gone!
I bet this is the first blog post ever, where the Blogmeister explains how to clear drain blockages by just a few well chosen words, and a threatened visit with some shiny new drain rods...
And I missed a damn good piss-up in London! Bugger!