What a Relief!

The pressure of work and a teensy domestic upheaval have kept me away from the keyboard for a while but, having worked a succession of night jobs, along with the days, and done a couple of weekends, I have actually got a day off today. Coupled with the fact that I am now on my own and have no running about to do for others, I have time to write.

There has been so much happening news-wise over the last few weeks that it would take too much time to recap and so I shall pick out THE one item which I believe to have been the most interesting.

Ever tried to get a plumber out to your place? Course you have! It's the same rigmarole every time and the same exorbitant bill - "...and there's a £70 call-out fee, don't forget", "Strewth, who fitted this? It's a right mess", "Naah, you just can't get the parts", "I'd get a re-con but they're like gold dust, mate", "Well, I've got a job to do at Number 56 so I'll nip there and call back tomorrow", "Sorry mate, I'm just snowed under and the parts still haven't arrived", "Is two weeks on Thursday any good to you?"

Well, spare a thought for Sergev Volkov, Oleg Kononenko and Greg Chamitoff. The lads, who live together (no, none of them make their own dresses), found themselves in a spot of bother when their bog bust.

Number 2s were still all systems go but, due to the complexity of their lavvy, Number 1s just wouldn't flush and things were getting pretty damp round at Chateau Chaps. The problem was exacerbated by the fact that they couldn't all just nip out to stay at a mate's house for the duration. You see, they are the occupants of the International Space Station!

Cue a phone call to the American-based plumber. "It'll be two weeks at the earliest, ladski. You just can't get the parts. Oh, and did I mention, there's a call-out fee - it's £987,569,300.27, not including VAT."

Well, when you gotta go, you gotta go, so the boys had a bit of a whip round and sat, no doubt with legs crossed, waiting for the plumber.

Said tradesperson did indeed take 14 days to call round and the lads, being starved of female company, were delighted to find it was a girly - one Mary Kelly.

"Strewth, who fitted this?" she asked. "They've made a right botch of it. You see, what you've got here is the Gravvyfree Shitnwee 670X. Cost £38 million to design, you know. You see, the solid waste system is operating properly but the liquid system, which uses air flow to direct urine and store it in a receptacle, is malfunctioning. You need a new pump. Lucky, but I've got one on the van. It'll cost, mind. They're £2.2 million each!"

"Fuckin' 'ell!" opined the lads. "Ain't there anything cheaper that'd do the job - or jobbies?"

At this point, Mary put her boss on the blower - Kirk Shireman, head of the station programme. He said, and I quote: "The alternate methods of waste disposal, including plastic bags with adhesive and bactericide - known as “Apollo bags” because they were used by early astronauts - are not particularly pleasant.

"They are, however, tried and true devices for their intended purposes.”

Well, would you? Hmm? Be honest. Does the idea of crapping and pissing into sticky food bags and then putting them in a cupboard for the next 18 years appeal? No, thought not.

The upshot was the boys opted for the replacement pump, emptied the little money jar they had been keeping for a rainy day (no-one had bothered to explain the likelihood of precipitation in space to our trio) and paid off Ms Kelly and Florida Pangalactic Plumbing Repairs.

They are now totally skint, 230,000 miles away from the nearest pub, with nothing to do all day but evacuate their bowels and bladders. I think I know how they feel.

Plumbers can go to Grantham but the chaps aboard the space station must stay with us.