So, this morning, two plumbers arrived to investigate a sluggish drain condition I'd inherited. The drain covers in the back garden were opened up, and pipey tools of various lengths appeared. Now, 90% of plumbing problems seem to be caused by those plastic hang-off-the-side-of-the-loo fresheners, so I was expecting one of those.
Instead, they brought up an entire landslide: piles of rock, sand, earth. It became clear why my petite tub of drain unblocker had been unsuccessful. The Head Plumber said that when the houses were built, some pipe hadn't been sealed up; the underground landslide was a situation years in the making.
As he hefted out another pile of gravelly slush, Head Plumber started back: at first he thought he'd got an electric shock, but there were two little cuts in his finger. Two little incisor-type cuts. And then it made sense how all the gunk got into the drains in the first place.
Rats, burrowing.
Tetanus. Leptospirosis. Bubonic plague. Differential diagnoses from House M.D. filled the air...
I remembered seeing a first aid kit when I moved in; it probably wouldn't have anything for rabies, but I fetched it anyway. It contained two safety pins and a single latex glove. Not the most rigorously maintained of emergency supplies...
We resorted to Elizabeth Arden's Eight Hour Cream. Wearing the remaining latex glove, Head Plumber finished clearing and assessed the unsealed pipe. "You wouldn't have an empty whiskey bottle in the house?" I brought out my recycling: we tried out a passata bottle, and some wine bottles, but they were all too skinny. You needed something broader, something chunkier...
Something Absolut.
I went to the freezer, got my trusty bottle of Absolut Citron, decanted it with a twang of regret.
Blessed thing fit like a glove.
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