It's a dirty job but everyone has to do it...

Sewage that is. We have lived in many houses and some of these houses, if not all, had sensitive plumbing, the kind that needed gentle persuasion or the forceful application of sewer rods from time to time. It was always considered a family job (note the pun) and so everyone was roped into helping. One time that I was in charge of looking down a manhole until the rods came into view, I asked who had eaten the sweetcorn as it passed. I was not given this job again. Dad came up with a plan that day that thankfully never was instigated; each family member was to have different coloured toilet paper so the blockage culprit could be easily identified.

In another house, tree roots were breaking up the sewage pipes and things would get tricky from time to time – I was known in the hire shop where you got the sewer rods following repeat rentals, not the kind of recognition a girl likes to have. There was a slope downwards from the house to the septic tank and it was a good distance away. Dad and my brother were down at the tank and I was at house all gloved up driving the rod end of things, my mother was upstairs flushing to toilet on demand. The distance from my position allowed for a kind of delayed ripple effect between pumping the rods and the effect downstream. My brother a very reluctant assistant did nothing but laugh and retreat, Dad would laugh too but drag him back to help, who wants to be alone in a shitty situation? It ended up that my brother and Dad were bending over the open tank peering up the pipe to look for the tree root and to see if the blockage had passed. For the person holding the rods further up the same pipe it was too tempting a predicament (I also have a very dark sense of humour), a short dart on the rods produced a quick squirt down the pipe but with the satellite delay due to the distance between tank and manhole I remained innocent as I was far away from the rods when they jumped back in panic. I assured them I hadn’t touched the rods and apparently I am a convincing liar because they resumed peering up the pipe. I couldn’t resist a second shot, this time I was caught but I only missed them by inches!

Some daughters do have 'em...

On the way to hospital today my mother and I stopped at a printing shop so I could have some photos enlarged. It was a lovely bright autumn day that was surprisingly warm and so the shop door was wedged open. She sat in the waiting area beside the open door as I went about my business; this took about twenty minutes. After I paid for my purchases and invited my mother to leave she began what can only be described as a Marcel Marceau impersonation – feeling for glass that was not there and sticking her foot out with less confidence than Neil Armstrong. I offered a gentle push to make up her mind and an unladylike yelp ensued as we landed on the level pavement outside. She recovered from the shock and explained that her eyes were not what they used to be (working perhaps?) and that she had difficulty seeing steps and had walked into glass before, I said that this was why Dad and I were nervous of her driving anywhere, but of course came the reply “They're not that bad...”

Marcel Marceau was at least pretending.


Following on from the printing shop I dropped Mum at the hospital, non psychiatric, for her appointment. She told me afterwards that after her consultation with the Rheumatologist, she was re-entering the office after dressing and her consultant was talking, so not wishing to be rude and eavesdrop on the phone conversation, my mother politely turned her back to inspect the certificates on the wall. After a few moments the consultant asked her “Are you listening to me?”...

It’s never dull.