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Bath Road was a picture of suburban misery. The gutters were overflowing, and number 17’s front garden had become a murky pond. Mrs. Albright met him at the door in a floral dressing gown, her knuckles white around a mug of tea.

“Just a compacted fat deposit, madam. Nasty one. But she’s flowing free now.” drain unblocking swindon

Frank paused, a half-eaten kebab dripping garlic sauce onto his boiler suit. “Singing, love?” Bath Road was a picture of suburban misery

“No job too strange. No blockage too cursed.” drain unblocking swindon

Frank’s professional outrage flared brighter than his fear. “You little blighters,” he hissed into the shaft. “That’s my livelihood you’re messing with.”