Blocked Drains

The plumber came at 1pm. He tried for two hours to unblock my storm water drain, but he couldn’t. Cameras, probes, markers, none of them were working. In the end, he got me to listen out the front as he did something out the back and I could hear it banging under the ground, like someone was trying to escape from underneath with a sledge hammer. (Who’s seen The Screaming Woman?) The ghouls from the depths were about to rise up I thought, the sewer monsters… storm water things most foul. The lost tribes of the Mole People. The Mahogany Ship. Alien space craft. Rats as big as horses… um… er… but I digress… perhaps, a small sledge hammer, tap, tap, tap. A bump. A clank… thump, thump, thump.

He is coming back next week to dig it up. It is probably something as simple as the root of the hibiscus tree looking for moisture in all the dry weather we’ve been having.

Of course, all my red geraniums have finally taken root and are about to flower and look glorious. Just a carpet of red under the hibiscus and camellia trees, like red satin, or the blood of a thousand wood nymphs splashed amongst the under growth. They will look lovely, finally, poised with flower buds every one of them… but, apparently not, not now. We are to be denied loveliness, it is such a shame.

Next week, the plumber is going to dig them all up.

Of course. It isn’t fair. Life isn’t fair. (Ha ha, that's life, hey?) (Yes, of course, I realise how ridiculous I sound, so what?) There must be another law we can name with this?

(Oh, and, is he a cute tradie? Nah. It has never been my experience. I have never cracked it for what I would call a porn worthy tradie. Nope. Never. Do they even exist?)
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