The Hose Man

The man arriveth from Scottish Water. And so begins an intriguing tale of sewerage archaeology. I trotted about with him as we tried to find the entry points - apparently a 9” pipe runs along the back of the houses, under modern extensions and patios until it crosses under one of the cottages into the mains sewer and thence magically to Seafield. In the end he decided to use one of my rodding holes (lucky us) but it didn’t clear it, despite 40m of hose disappearing down there. And then he ran out of water. After a refill, we eventually find a neighbour with a manhole covered by a large slate. He’ll be back tomorrow.
So, a briefer than intended trip to the boat to complete the wiring - it works! Well, some functions, as after unsuccessfully firing up it did a clever automatic shut-down. Mañana!
And then a barbecue sitting out in the sun. And RLB got Starmer’s boot. You’d think she’d have enough on her plate getting to grips with a sizeable education agenda without reading and retweeting pish like a stupid teenager. Exactly like a stupid teenager.