Thursday, 23 August 2007
Ooooh that's nasty
Listening to: Out Come The Freaks (Was Not Was)
Smelling: not too good
The building inspector called yesterday to have a look at the tumbledown wreck we like to call home. We know pretty much where the problems are - we need new doors, windows, floors and a roof - so there wasn't much he could tell us that would knock us off our stride.
So he poked around in our loft, took photographs, drank some tea, made lots of notes (and I really mean lots), and then asked to see the septic tank.
Now, I'm not the squeamish type, but I have spent the last 46 years enjoying the advantages of mains water and sewerage and, to be honest, I've been avoiding any investigation of the post-lavatorial arrangements here.
So I ushered the inspector round to the front of the barn, lifted the large slab and, surpressing the urge to shout "Ta-ra!", waited for some kind of verdict.
Actually, it was pretty unpleasant, as you can imagine, in fact it was brimming. I decided that it definitely needed pumping out, if only to spare me embarrassment in front of local government officials. As it happens, our friend and neighbour Marcus was again able to help out.
He turned up with his huge tractor (size does matter on Westray) and a tanker. We manhandled the gigantic hose into the. . . errr. . . goo, and he pressed a button in the cab, quickly warned me to step aside and the slurping started. Five minutes later we were all done and dusted, still relatively clean and Marcus was rumbling off up the road. Can't help wondering where it all goes, though.