[Very Erle Stanley Gardner.]
Today we were leaving our Moffat campsite to make the 75-mile trip to Culzean Castle where the Camping and Caravanning Club have a campsite in the park grounds. From the campsite it is but a short step to the Scottish National Trust property.
Before leaving the Moffat campsite, I needed to visit the motorhome service point to dump our waste water and fill up with fresh water. The campsite layout is a little awkward in that we had to go through the exit barrier to return immediately through the code-controlled entrance barrier.This I did and pulled into the service point.
We had not dumped any waste water since leaving Newark after Frodo’s service. Because our waste drains slowly, I thought I’d set it going before filling with fresh water. I opened the drain tap – nothing, nada, nichts. Other than a brief tiny dribble which soon stopped, no waste water appeared. Surely I had not left the tap in the wrong position, open, and discharged where I shouldn’t? Five days worth of water seemed to have disappeared. I had a problem one way or the other.
With what must be a reasonably full waste tank and not wishing to be carrying too great a weight of water, I filled the fresh tank to only 50%. Scratching my head metaphorically, we exited once again and began our journey.
Some of the Scottish miles can seem a bit long; the journey took about two hours. We were a few minutes ahead of opening time [13:00] so sat and waited behind another early arrival.
Once open, the friendly man at reception asked if we’d like a pitch with a sea view – yes please – so we got Frodo settled overlooking the Firth of Clyde and the isle of Arran. Most unfortunately, behind the Isle of Arran are parts of the Mull of Kintyre which are visible. Francine irritatingly mentioned it. I absolutely loathe Macca’s Mull of Kintyre but now it was cemented into my brain as earworm of the day. Thanks a bunch!
Probably to avoid being strangled, Francine thought she’d go on a scouting trip of the Culzean castle grounds, leaving me to investigate Frodo’s lack of waste water. I tried lying on a picnic blanket but the howling gale blowing in off the firth made holding it down impossible. A padded jacket on the gravel would have to do.
I grabbed a collapsible bowl to place under the waste tank plumbing as I removed my duct tape to gently ease off the tap assembly. My waste water was not lost after all, it was still in the tank and began flowing into my bowl as I loosened the pipe. The bowl filled quickly and I jammed the pipe back on to stem the flow while I emptied the bowl. I did this three times before I could let the dregs into the bowl.
The drain tap is poor, seemingly being designed to block, and blocked it most certainly was. I have a bendy drain pipe-cleaner device with which I managed to extract an unmentionable plug of grease-matted curly hair. Guess whose hair that might’ve been. A kettle of boiling water finished the cleaning job whereupon I reassembled the waste tank plumbing.
Fortunately I already knew my way around the waste tank plumbing; this was not the first time I had taken it apart to clean it. Frodo had always drained painfully slowly and whilst in Spain over winter, I had removed the tap and flushed it through with hot water. Draining speed became respectable. I think our problem this time is that we had used Frodo’s on-board shower nearly all the time in Spain and clearly quite a bit of hair had made its way into the waste tank. Add to that grease from washing up water and you’ve got a drain blockage waiting to happen.
Mr. Fixit had struck once again, so I awarded myself a beer or two. Francine returned from her exploratory mission while I was keeping poor ol’ Frodo company.
After a pleasant afternoon, in the evening Frodo’s view was lost as low clouds and heavy rain moved in.
Sadly my earworm remained. I may have to find some intertidal mud in which to bury Francine – “she’s a witch, m’lud”.
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