Meath — Blocked Drains

You could feel the sharp scrape of a collapsed pipe. The spongy give of a fatberg built from a dozen neighbouring kitchens. The sudden, gritty grind of roots—hawthorn, usually, or a spiteful little willow that had no business being near a drain. Today, he felt roots.

“Aye,” he said, sipping the tea. “Until the next spring.” blocked drains meath

He set up the cones, called the council to let them know he’d be tearing up the edge of the lane, and got the spade from the van. The rain started again—not hard, just a persistent, horizontal drizzle that found the gap between his hood and his collar. You could feel the sharp scrape of a collapsed pipe

He found the break in the pipe—a cracked collar where a hawthorn root had forced its way through, thirsty for the water that ran from Mrs. Delaney’s washing machine. He replaced the broken section with a new piece of PVC, backfilled the hole with gravel, and smoothed the tarmac over the top. Today, he felt roots