The Cracked Pipe

Winters out here in the Limousin are very cold. No need for the word ‘apparently’ because I’ve been here in winter. I know. The lady who owned the house before me obviously didn’t know, or didn’t care or was very stupid, because she didn’t drain the system the last time she was here. One of the first things Mr B showed me was how to turn the water on and off, and how to get all the water OUT of the pipes. Had she been more knowledgeable/caring or less stupid, the following would not have happened:

1. The beautiful cast iron radiators in both upper bedrooms would not have split

2. The embryonic shower plumbing in the bathroom would not have blown

I was lucky in two respects. Mr & Mrs B noticed the radiators and had them capped off. They didn’t notice the shower but were here testing the boiler with a plumber when the water was switched on. He fitted isolation tapas for the shower. Olé.

When the HHs came round for champagne and jollity, Nick worked some plumbing magic (I think he just took the flexi pipes off and capped them but one never knows with plumbers!) so that I could have water upstairs, use the loo and shower in the bedroom; where either the plumbing is more robust, or the temperature doesn’t drop so low. I’m really hoping it’s the latter. I’ll let you know in November.

I’m digressing madly on the subject of plumbing, a dangerous thing to do. I can’t blame the previous owner for what I’m about to tell you next, although I suspect she may have known about it.

So here’s the thing: I’m sitting having breakfast when I remember that a few days ago I put a bowl under a drip in the cupboard where the downstairs loo used to be. I meander over to check it only to discover that not only has it overflowed, but also the water in the bowl is suspiciously murky.

Murky water. Former loo. A bit niffy. Oh shit. Shit shit shit shit shit.

I phone Nick. He’s calm as you like. Of course he is, it’s not his loo that’s backing up! He says it’s probably where my pipes join the tout-à-l’égout in the street. He tells me to pop over to the Mairie and ask them to get someone to look at it.

Is tennis popular in France? The receptionist at the Mairie has obviously been practising her return serve because she tells me I need a plumber. Mr. B’s French plumber is booked up for weeks but on hearing the problem comes straight round.

Can I just take a self-congratulatory moment here? I had to leave him a message. On the telephone. In French. About
PLUMBING. And he understood!

He identifies the site of the blockage (unfortunately in my cellar not in the street outside) and gets out his rod (oo-er Mrs). It’s only when the rod doubles back and hits him in the face that we realise that this is not just a simple case of irresponsible sanitary towel disposal. Look at the picture below. That is the soil pipe that runs under my floor carrying waste from the loo. Notice it’s cracked? The reason it’s blocked is because all the ancient rubble and dust has fallen INTO the crack. I have an open sewer running underneath my front room.

Lots of Gallic shrugging ensues. I prefer this to the teeth-sucking behaviour of the British. The main problem appears to be that he is supposed to be working at the boulangerie down the road. He speaks to his boss. I am banned from using my facilities for 24 hours. I can still wash up and shower, I just can’t do anything that involves lowering my pants for lavatorial purposes. Fortunately there are excellent public facilities in the square that are clean, warm and open 24/7. I love France!

The following day I make Christophe-le-plombier un café then depart for Castorama (Think Wickes) and the SFR shop. By the time I return with some self-adhesive decorative plastic and an internet stick, he has fitted a new loo downstairs. This is a temporary measure as to fit it upstairs requires the removal of the large metal soil pipe that is of the same provenance as the one featured in the picture above.

I am feeling cheerful about my new loo for the following reasons:

1. My dealings with Christophe and the Mairie were conducted entirely in French and I have learned several new words.

2. It has totally cured me of the notion that I will be able to fit a second loo downstairs. There are huge privacy issues before you even address the question of hygiene and odour management. The other thing is that because the cubicle is so wee (no pun intended) there is barely room to close the door if you’re sitting down, so God knows how the gents are going to manage!

I am feeling apprehensive about my new loo for the following reasons:

1. My curtains downstairs are not substantial. If I neglect to close the door whilst the light is on (very likely: see above), there is a danger that I will be sharing my toilet behaviour with the square outside.

2. The last time I used the upstairs loo, I didn’t flush. At some point, I am going to have to empty it manually.

3. I haven’t had the bill yet.

MOTS DU JOUR

Le tout-à-l’égout = mains drainage
La vidange = waste pipe
Completement pourri = completely rotten
Boucheé = blocked (can be used for traffic and noses as well as drains)