As the sole repair job that has gone unchallenged, today I decided to bear the odd chemical smell coming from the waste pipe and bring the toilet in line with the rest of the house (ie. almost repaired). Someone had to do it, and with workable electrics in our grasp and USgal bringing the kitchen and bathroom waste water pipes into the modern age, I was without a task.
Onwards.
Some toilet surgery. Like an episode of CSI. Note the Marigolds doing their noble bit to protect me from the mystery that lies beyond the foam.
What mystery substance will gush out of the waste pipe?
Wait for it...
Wait for it...
A moment more...
Nail-biting stuff isn't it?
Oh my god, what's that?
It's a bag from Waterstone's the bookshop!
It turns out that the councilmen who had smashed up the flat to deter squatters were a literate bunch of people after all.
Seriously though, this is a tactic they use to block the pipe. Stuff it with newspapers or plastic bags before plugging it up with hard rock foam. This will be easier for them to unplug when it comes to the flats being reoccupied by rent-paying people.
A photo of the waste pipe, post-bag.
A giant reddish toadstool aka the toilet seat.
Hole-y moley!
Eventually, the following concertina-like nozzle will connect both holes and a working toilet (assuming the cistern works) will bloom from that. No more escapades to the local pub for their restrooms or using the toilet of a neighbour.
The toilet as of today. Looking like artefacts from an archaeological dig.
Toilet surgery, as sponsored by McDonalds.
