Plumber's friend

One of the joys of doing up a 'pre-loved' house is finding all the things which weren't quite loved enough. The window mechanisms were one; the light switch was another, but today's unmissable was the blocked sink. I should have guessed from the smell of sheep carrion which was coming from the plug hole, but it took today's use of water to wash the accumulated grease from the kitchen tiles and units to realise that the drains were full of something, and that something was not fluid and was definitely not water.

First attempts with bleach and hot water (rustled up on the ancient microwave) proved fruitless, so we went in search of a plumber's friend. It being Sunday, there was not much likelihood of finding one. But we were in luck.

On the Place Nationale there is a penny bazaar selling the most amazing examples of sentimental ornaments (think 'oil painting' of gypsy lass, galloping semi-naked and bareback across moonlit shore), inherently unstable ironing boards and cheap crockery, not to mention some pretty loud bedspreads. In the basement (interesting for the vaulting: this is a really old house), there was a variety of mean looking plumber's friends with hefty handles. Maybe the old town needs a muscular enema to its drains once in a while. I was very glad of the plastic bag which covered the large, and bright red rubber sucker when I went to have a coffee at the terrace of the Vieil Antibes café. Even with the plastic bag concealing my trophy, I was pretty sure the other people were staring at me and wishing they had chosen another table... Either that, or they had a bad case of 'plunger envy'... Maybe size matters after all...

Got the outsized 'friend' home, filled the sink (I forgot to say that I had earlier decrudded the plug filters, which produced between them some fine examples of pond life, some of which dated back to the Jurassic at least), asked the better half to hold down the other plug with firm resolve, and started the recommended piston action using both hands. Strange noises, some which sounded like distant street protests, followed by what would be, in a person, gastric reflux.

The sink filled with slime and then started to empty. I was waiting to see whether there would be a whirlpool, which would indicate an end to the problem. Charybdis! Another problem 'down the drain'.