I often moan here (well, what else is a blog for) about my workload at the start of each month, as I’ve to go in early and come home late every day in order to meet a really tight deadline. Even yesterday, when I’d left myself just nine minutes to write a post in order to meet my own self-imposed deadline, I still blew the first couple of those minutes griping about the past four days just to make absolutely sure you all know what a tough job I have.
Today a guy spent 90 minutes of a Bank Holiday Saturday blowing poo out of our drains.
The witty post title is his, too, as the business is called Drain Surgeons, and he did a great job, in that he has cleared it and we no longer have to hide in the house while neighbours wander about outside, heads up and sniffing like the Fee-Fi-Fo giant as they try to pinpoint the source of the dreadful smell that started out of nowhere around midday.
He says it’s only temporary, however. The root of our problem is apparently just that, a tree root is blocking the pipe somewhere in our back garden (I honestly just looked back at the last two words there and found that I had typed “cack garden”). So he’ll be back on Tuesday with a little camera and will perform what is basically a seweroscopy to locate where exactly the problem is.
He will then dig wherever the blockage is and will hack out the root, the state of which can only be imagined, if that’s the kind of imagining you like to do during idle moments. Oh, and the weather forecast for Tuesday is for rain.
And while he’s doing that I’ll be sitting in a warm, dry office with a mug of tea on my desk, moving my fingers around a keyboard and occasionally sighing deeply at how onerous my lot in life is.
I feel a bit silly now.