Chinese Flood Drill

Last Friday (3rd July) we had a sudden and heavy downpour here on the beautiful island of Bute. The rainwater streamed down the steeply inclined road I live on. Not quite white-water canoeing conditions, but worryingly torrential, nonetheless. But the real trouble spot, as far as I was concerned, was my balcony. It has a drainage gutter running into a downpipe, which was unfortunately blocked. The water level in the gutter rose alarmingly quickly, and flooded over onto the balcony finding all the cracks and openings in the bitumen covered floor. My balcony is directly above a good portion of my living room ceiling, and yes, before I could say, “Oh my fucking God”, the rainwater began to penetrate onto the ceiling and run down parts of the wall.

No time to stop and think. Time to go into controlled panic mode (something akin to “Chinese Fire Drill”, replace fire with flood). Tell mum not to worry; strategically place buckets to catch the water dripping from the ceiling; don anorak and up onto the balcony to sweep frantically and poke into blocked pipe with hastily found wire.

Progress report; thoroughly drenched, flooding getting worse.

Have to find that effing blockage. Rummage for appropriate tools. Go down into neighbours garden to access bottom of plastic downpipe. Open drain at bottom of pipe. Grope into it with bare hand hoping not to clutch a dead rat. Nothing there. Pierce holes in pipe. No water issuing from holes. Smash holes into one large ugly gash with hammer. Still nothing. Ergo, blockage must be near top of pipe where I can't reach. In desperation mode now; hammer frustratingly on pipe; dislodge joint near top; and, hallelujah, water gushes from broken joint. Hurrying back, I slip on the wet grass and fall on my arse.

Progress report; if it's possible to be more than thoroughly drenched, then I am. Is the flooding getting worse? Well, it ain't getting better.

The rain finally eases, and I do some more demented sweeping and poking about in the gutter/downpipe. I come down into living room to check on mum; she's surprisingly calm. I find my rat-on-a-wire device, which I was looking for earlier, and with it manage to unblock the downpipe. The water runs away, and things are finally looking up. Eventually the water trapped on the ceiling drips itself out. I estimate I've got about a gallon of rainwater collected in the buckets. I peel off my soaked clothing and bung it into the washing machine, and resume my interrupted lunch.

Later that afternoon I root out a tarpaulin from the shed and lay it over the balcony. I tell myself this is only a temporary measure until I get the balcony professionally repaired. But, I know that'll cost me the best part of a grand. And, oh, well, we'll see.

A few days later, almost as an afterthought, a strip of paper flops, and hangs down from the ceiling. I get some wallpaper paste and stick it back up.

That balcony is one of the best features of this house, giving wonderful views over the Firth of Clyde and Loch Striven. But it sure is a bitch to maintain. Once or twice a year we'll get a downpour which tests its condition, and my resolve. When I was in the local hardwear store the other day to buy some bunji clips for the tarpaulin I noticed a lovely tin of bitumen mastic solution. It was only £17.99p. And I was just wondering; perhaps employing a builder to “professionally” repair the balcony isn't really necessary.