Blocked Drains Coventry May 2026

“No.”

Kev unspooled a high-pressure water jet, and the hose shuddered like a living thing. He fed it into the drain. The sound was a deep, pressurized roar, followed by a wet schlurp that made the ground vibrate. Then a cascade of foul water and debris erupted from the outside gully, washing across the concrete. Kev stepped back just in time. “There she goes. The Coventry Mudslide.” blocked drains coventry

Marlon just stared. Then he smiled, very slowly. “No problem. Just… next time, call a professional. I know a guy.” Then a cascade of foul water and debris

Kev packed his gear. “Better than new. But here’s the thing, pal. You call me again in six months? I’ll bring a camera for the other reason.” He tapped his nose. “Blocked drains don’t happen by accident. Somewhere up there, someone’s pouring fat down the sink like they’re trying to grease a lorry.” The Coventry Mudslide

Forty minutes later, a white van with a faded Drain Avenger decal pulled up. Kev was in his fifties, with a high-vis vest stretched over a gut that suggested a lifelong love of pork pies. He carried an inspection camera like a TV host holding a microphone. “Right, lad. Let’s see what’s festering down there.”

He fed the snake-eyed camera into the outside drain. Marlon watched the grainy screen—a tunnel of old clay pipe, then something dark and matted. Kev zoomed in. “Ah. The classic Coventry clog.”