Fosse and Bother - France - page 169

one. The previous shower unit had apparently been a rustic variation on one of those old 'hole
in the ground' toilets for which the French were notorious. The shower base was plonked
on sand and 'drained' haphazardly into the ground below which was another reason why the
walls were rotting and why the thing had smelled so badly. As Cruchet reasonably explained,
the new shower had been linked properly into the drainage system which meant that if there
was a blockage, as seemed likely, the system was now overloaded and backing up around the
entire house. That is all waste, all human waste, that should have been going into the under-
ground fosse septique (septic tank) was actually living in the wall pipes around us. We were
living in a faecal compost heap.
He dug a trench outside exposing the pipe to the fosse septique . 'The blockage will be at the
mouth,' he said, 'so if I make a hole around here the pipe will be full.' He pressed the button
on his drill for added effect and began. Within seconds there was a fountain of waste water
spouting up from the pipe as possibly years of back-up burst forth. Quickly Cruchet blocked
the hole up again and called a vidange curage (a specialist septic tank emptier) that he knew
to come and empty the whole thing, hopefully unblocking the system in the process.
A few hours later and a man with a tanker, big pipes, serious gloves and apparently no sense
of smell whatsoever was emptying the fosse . 'There's your problem,' he said, fishing out a
tonne of nappy wipes, a collection of household goods and a toy helicopter. About a year ago
things had started to go missing around the house and we had also started to go through pack-
ets of nappy wipes like a busy maternity ward. We all knew Thérence was the culprit, but we
had had no idea where he was hiding the things. Now we knew and we turned to look at him
as he sucked nonchalantly on a massive strawberry ice lolly, the mess making him look like
the Joker from the Batman films.
'Yum!' he said, a description completely at odds with the open sewer situation that surroun-
ded us.
It's always good to meet people who are enthusiastic, knowledgeable and passionate about
their work - to some extent it restores one's faith in humanity, and as I listened to the vidan-
geur , who had fitted us in at the end of his day when he had no obligation to do so, lecture me
about my responsibilities towards my fosse septique , how I should be doing more regarding
upkeep and general sewer maintenance, it struck me, quite genuinely, that the world needs
people like him - and our neighbour, Cruchet, who had refused to take payment for the extra
hours he had put in. Of course, vidange man was also standing on top of a pile of my family's
bodily waste and wiping 'splashback' from his sweaty face, so the idea that someone whose
life choices up until then had led to this moment was lecturing me, was all a bit much frankly.
'Merci beaucoup!' I said, handing over a cheque and narrowly avoiding a handshake. 'I'm
off for a shower.'
After my shower, and also after a subsequent inspection of other plugs and sinks in the
house to check that the problem was definitely fixed, I made my way out to my office. I had