Drains Wirral | Unblocking

“You know,” Kev said, pausing at the gate. “Unblocking drains on the Wirral... it’s not a job. It’s a geography lesson. Every pipe tells you who lived here. The grease from the chip shops. The hair from the girls getting ready for the Pyramids Centre. The lost rings.”

“It’s not just you, love. It’s the whole row. Victorian pipes. They were built for horse manure and rainwater, not for fairy liquid and flash frying.” unblocking drains wirral

Kev smiled. “That’s just a kid who wanted to see where the water went.” “You know,” Kev said, pausing at the gate

For the next three hours, Edith watched from her kitchen window as Kev became part archaeologist, part surgeon. He dug a pit in her prized dahlias without complaint. He uncoiled a high-pressure jetter that screamed like a jet engine, blasting away the calcified fat and the writhing, pale root hairs that had snaked through the crack like fingers reaching for a meal. It’s a geography lesson

“Right,” he said, wiping his hands on a rag that was more stain than fabric. “That’ll be eighty-five quid.”