I will never take my toilet for granted, ever again

Yesterday, Mercury was in Retrograde. I know this because my hairdresser has just told me through the toilet door. I am sitting on a cheap plastic bucket having a wee because my toilet is blocked. I am hoping it will be unblocked before the solids come calling. Anyway, my buttocks viciously slashed by the bucket rim, I shift uneasily from cheek to cheek while my hairdresser attacks my unruly barnet. As usual, we chit-chat but this time, having debated whether Amy Winehouse uses a B&Q mini pergola inside her beehive to stop the flop (I think not) or why my nose is two shades browner than the rest of my face (it’s too bloody big), or why the man in the BP garage thinks it’s ok to draw attention to my perky nipples when I go in for a pint of milk (it’s not but I enjoy calling him a twat in front of the other customers), we discuss the planetry alignments and whether they really do mess up our day. The conclusion is, yes, Mercury is going backwards and it’s impacting big-time on my u-bend. When the hairdresser leaves and I no longer resemble the big one from the Hair Bear Bunch, I go to my loo with gusto. I fashion a pokey thing out of a coathanger and plunge my bogbrush in and out with great vigour but nothing works. Then I decide to throw a bucket of hot soapy water down there to dislodge whatever incongruous object is causing the obstruction (I chuck all sorts in my loo: hair, wasps, cheese). Unfortunately, having filled my bucket in the bath, I can’t get the hot tap to turn off. An hour later, when the plumber finally arrives, he fumbles his way through the steam, turns off the tap, dons some elbow-length black rubber gloves and goes down into my drain. There, he discovers something that resembles a big chunky dreadlock but turns out to be roots from next door’s ivy. I am pleased to say my arse is now in recovery and I am flushing with impunity.

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