Grappling with the Golgothan, or: If I had died last night I'd have gone straight to heaven

Because I atoned for all my sins, and probably for some I'm still going to commit.

WARNING: if you're faint of stomach, don't continue reading.

So. Goran the Lovely Landlord called yesterday at noon, telling me that the plumber had just been at my place and would need to return around 4 p.m., and could I possibly be there?
So I was there, and they arrived, and what I learned was this: no trace of any damage or problem in the upstairs toilet; the problem was clearly located in the horizontal part of the down pipe running across my bathroom ceiling and leading towards the main down pipe, i.e. they'd have to open and possibly change the pipes.
My heart sank, because we all know what down pipes contain.
I'm glad nobody took a picture of my face at the moment the plumber took down the pipe.
In my honour, I have to say that I neither cried nor threw up.
In Goran the Lovely Landlord's honour I have to say that he didn't throw up either but stayed for the whole duration of the single most disgusting operation I've ever seen in my life.
Poor, poor plumber. In his honour I have to say that he got rid of the worst by rinsing walls, floor etc. down with the shower hose.
Still, what remained was impressive.
Let me tell you, shit goes *everywhere*. Especially places you have difficulties reaching. Oh, and of course under the washing machine where it formed an interesting compound with the dust located there.
After Goran and the plumber had left, I spent two hours cleaning the (mercifully small) bathroom, using enormous quantities of industrial-strength cleaner. While I was busy cleaning I opened all windows and balcony doors to get rid of the smell. And when finally the bathroom was shiny and shitless, I took a 20-minute hot shower. Funnily enough I couldn't eat in spite of being very hungry.
Put all the soiled towels in the machine and washed them first at 90 and then this morning again at 60 degrees. Threw away all the sponges etc I'd used.
Oh, I forgot to mention what the problem was: a fist-sized piece of concrete or mortar lodged in the pipe. Don't ask me how it got there (probably by accident, when the builders were working in the upstairs flat).

Being the insufferably positive-thinking person I am, I also have to say that the whole sordid problem had two distinctly positive aspects:
1) no cockroaches
2) it happened in the small bathroom, i.e. no too much surface to clean.
Still, I'd be very happy if this didn't happen to me anymore.

Now this considerably brightened my day

From the information folder the political dept. put together for the visit of our secretary of state:

"Nevertheless, and to be frank, we doubt that the veneration of ancient founding myths and the excessive erection of classical statues is the exclusive way to define a nation’s identity"

*gigglesnort*
follwed by
*headdesk*

Now I have to think of a non-dirty way to point out that this is maybe not the most fortuitous way of putting it.