Previously on sewage saga: Katherine bruised her ribs removing the coverboard of the holding tank. The leak was covered with silicone sealant, and Katherine went to bed optimistic normal toilet service had been resumed.
I woke to find the silicone sealant had not lived up to the promises on the tin. The leak persisted. I raided the cupboards to see what else I might have to plug the leak, and found a tube of super superglue. ‘It might just work,’ I mused, probably stroking my chin.
It didn’t. The bubbling continued. The only way I had a hope of getting anything to successfully plug the leak and stop the bubbling was to empty the tank of anything that could leak out of it. This thought process all took place whilst the boat was involuntarily rocking from side to side in particularly windy conditions.
Not being a patient soul (and more to the point, with people coming to stay in a couple of days), I decided to take the boat out in the gale to pump out the holding tank right then anyway. I had mild palpitations as I backed out, and the hurricane took the back of the boat towards a delicate-looking plastic boat. But I missed it, and made it out the marina without incident (my neighbour sighed with relief I imagine as she saw me pull clear of her boat). Parking next to the pump out was an altogether trickier proposition. With unhelpful onlookers (they appeared to be the kind of people who could navigate a narrowboat, but decided just to stare, and I imagine tut, at my attempts to get close to the jetty) and sweaty palms, I faffed about in the middle of the canal for what seemed like a couple of hours (it was probably 15 minutes), but finally tied up and got the tank emptied out.
I just couldn’t face trying to park the boat back in the marina, so I had two choices: leave it where it was and potentially annoy passers-by who wanted to use the pump out facilities but couldn’t because of the 57ft lump of steel in the way. Or play the helpless female card, and beg for help. Whilst I have some issues with the latter option, and the stereotype it feeds into, it was the course I took, and the lovely Richard expertly navigated Double Fracture back to her mooring. (And made it look effortless. One day, that will not be me.)
Tank empty, I applied liberal amounts of super superglue around the plastic square. It dried, and then I slathered on some silicone sealant. And lastly I screwed the coverboard on and resolved never to use the pump out toilet ever again as it is just more hassle than it is worth. That resolution will hold strong until my cassette toilet needs emptying, and I can’t be bothered to carry it across the road to the appropriate disposal facilities.
So I don’t actually know if I have actually fixed the leak. I like to think so though. And whilst there is no evidence to the contrary, that will be the official line.
This blogpost was brought to you by ‘Human‘ by the Killers.
*I really wanted to come up with a witty play on words, or failing that, a play on words involving the word ‘trilogy’ and something toilet-related. Any suggestions would be gratefully received, and the best will receive a homemade Double Fracture sticker. Quite the incentive, I know.