Shit!

I blocked the bog! What a fucking idiot! It was only toilet paper. That the decorations were wrapped in last year and I couldn't be bothered to replace. They were just taking up space in the box, so it made sense to dispose of it in the place it goes. There was a lot of it, but it fitted in. And I'm buggered if I'm gonna be picking baubles out of that water. It was a shit one anyway. Was a bit scary when the water level started rising towards the rim (not mine, I was standing up), but it stopped just short of the top. Note: Toilets, or ours at least seem to have the ability to drain water from under the rim. Where it comes out. Thinking about it, it was probably just the water going down, and thereby allowing air under it that made it gurgle. Though I'm sure the bleach foam was being sucked towards it.
Anyway, it was going down very slowly. VERY slowly. I had a feel round the bend with some rubber gloves, but couldn't reach anything. If you ever bung up your crapper and feel the need to stick your hand down it, make sure you wear long gloves. I didn't. I also tried shoving a spare shower hose up it, to no avail. Dunno whether it hit a bend it couldn't do, but it wasn't moving. Looked in a DIY book. It said I needed a special giant plunger or a kind of rod thing. Fuck that. So I rang my dad.
No answer on the mobile. So I rang his house. And was transferred across (one c? I think so). Phew. He suggested either putting a hose up and squirting or using a wet cloth as a plunger. Bollocks to the hose. I got the rat's towel. Yes, the rat's towel. after emptying a bit out with a too-big bucket it cleared with one go of the towel. Definitely one to try next time.

The moral? Don't put things in the loo that don't go there. Or too much of what does.

Hopefully then, my lovelies, this sorry tale will be of some use to one of you cunts and you won't have to go through what I did. I still smell of bleach. Though I doubt it. So fuck you all.

Thank fuck the Lady was out with her sisters and mother shopping for bridesmaid's dresses (for her sister's wedding). There would have been all sorts of panic, tears, call to plumbers and bollocks like that if she hadn't. I worked up a sweat though when time wore on.

Incidentally, if you are ever invited to watch Bad Santa with your partner's family, or if they suggest, say, you get it on paper-view, politely decline. They may be mildly offended, but you won't have to sit through a film with them what every sentence seems to contain the word "fuck", often preceded by the word "mother", and where the protagonist is abnormally obsessed with seeing to women in the manner which has the effect of rendering them unable to "shit right for a week". A surprising number of sex scenes for a Christmas film.

Bad Santa
@*!#$

You have been warned. Now fuck off.

I'm tired.