How to Fix a Toilet with a Bread Knife and a Brick

A mousey looking lady with glasses arrived with a Government census form, she wanted to know what type of sewage system we had. I told her I put m’ head down the bog but I couldn’t tell…. as when the flush went round the corner I wasn’t exactly sure what happened to it all.

I wondered if she wouldn’t mind sending round a government plumber to verify things as the form said you could be fined 10,000 for a wrong answer. In the end I got round it all by telling her I wasn’t living where she thought I was living.

And anyways, Blakes Hotel (rated number one in London by Fodors) where I normally hang out, absolutely prohibits guests chasing the sewage about investigating ‘end delivery’ and that sort of stuff. You have to sign a non-disclosure form when you check in.

At the old house that I told the census lady I wasn’t living in, the toilet cistern in my room went drip, drip all night. I tried to ignore it but after three months it got on my nerves.

So I lifted the cistern lid, which tried to take out my fingers several times, I jammed it with a brick, and I realized that the rocker arm with the float was not connected to the multi-swivel toggle flange that operated the release valve in the water flow mechanism.

I tinkered with it for ages, dawn was coming up; I thought it best to get a breadknife from the kitchen in case I needed to slash m’ wrists.

I didn’t know whether to ask the audience or phone a friend, so I sat on the bog lid crossed legged with my head in my hands staring at the faulty cistern. In despair, I started mumbling prayers to the gods of plumbing.

Where upon I spied a plastic bog brush in a holder on the floor behind the cistern. It could talk and it said, “Stuie Bubba, if you stick me under the rocker arm you can con the system into thinking there’s more water in the tank than Lake effin’ Huron, where upon it will cease to drip”.

If you are having problems I’m only charging forty Euros an hour, now that I’m fully qualified. (sw)