The Oak is flooded

Tues.11.12.07. Once I had finished the internal panels I had every intention of taking them to Michael at Premier Auto trim to be covered in leather but, sensibly, I decided that at least one more fitting in ‘situ’ is prudent. During the afternoon Andy from ‘Europa’ called with the news that the connecting cable for the ‘tacho’ had finally arrived along with the front springs that I had previously inquired about. He has managed to locate a pair of 130 lbs. 10.5 to 7.5 with an ID of 2.25 at a nominal cost of £21.00 each. He claims that they are compatible for a Spax adjustable shocker and more importantly possess the ideal specification that we require: we may, therefore, have finally discovered the ‘holy grail’. But, having already spent too much time researching this ‘front suspension’ issue I feel neither elated nor disappointed but rather disinterested. Being excited about ‘finding’ proper parts has unfortunately lost the gloss it formally had. 

A visit to the Oak was long overdue. The distractions of the previous week had resulted in token abstinence for several days. But on approaching the pub I observed a hand written explanation on the front door advising customers that the “Royal Oak will be closed until further notice”. I immediately thought that the threats of eviction had now become a reality, burly bailiffs snatching personal possessions, the ‘Doc’ and June shivering in a local hostel, collectively flashed through my head. It wasn’t long before ‘Tracy’, the landlords black eyed daughter, from the warmth of her nearby parked car, informed me that there had been some kind of flood that had damaged most of the ground floor; the water had also seeped into the cellar contaminating the stock. She offered me a lift up to the Bowling Green where her ‘dad’ with Chris where taking comfort in several pints of ‘Speckled Bush’.

The actual truth behind the closure turned out to be far more serious than a ‘burst pipe’. The ancient configuration of surface water drains, soil pipes and domestic waste had conspired to create the mother of blockages; this consequently had ‘backed up’ to such an extent that raw sewage was freely flowing into the beer cellar covering the stillage, cooling system and all of the stock in a creamy ochre coloured carpet of liquid effluent. Creeping upwards the ‘brown soup’ had also leached into the ‘Axe Minster and Wilton’ having totally swamped the ‘fruits’ corridor. The ‘Doc’ by now had three scenarios. The loss adjuster could pay for the entire re-construction of the drainage system, the re-tanking of the cellar walls and roof, replacing all the coolers, ventilation plus refrigeration, the loss of earnings as well as stock for the period whilst the pub is closed together with the distress in addition to the trauma caused by the catastrophe. (in your dreams). The loss adjuster could suggest rodding the pipes then ‘cleaning up’ the cellar. (the cheapest and most likely). Or, which is the most dreadful outcome, local health and safety officers could condemn the premises, the enormity of re-routing the complete evacuation system proving to be an engineering impossibility. This accident could not have come at a worst time for any licensee, this period of trading being one of the most lucrative; the money earned usually keeps the wolf from the door during the bleak months of January and February. Typically the ‘Doc’ was being pragmatic about any eventuality. “I don’t give a shit what ‘they’ offer; the pub is bound to be closed until well after Christmas, I just want to know when the work will be finished so I can book my flight”.