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Dave fed the tethered crawler—a camera on wheeled tracks—into the gully. The screen flickered to life. For the first ten metres, it was standard stuff: fractured clay pipes, a few hairline roots, a dead pigeon. But at fifteen metres, the tunnel opened up.

"Depends what's causing the pressure," Jake replied. "We need to open that grate. But not with cameras. Dave, suit up." drain company wolverhampton

Dave Kowalski had the build of a nightclub bouncer and the mind of a hydraulic engineer. He pulled on a dry suit, a harness, and a helmet with a lamp that cut through the dark like a knife. Jake stayed topside, monitoring the gas detector and the rope. Dave fed the tethered crawler—a camera on wheeled

A section of Victorian tiles near an old cast-iron gully rose and fell by an inch every few seconds, as if something vast and patient was sighing below. A black, viscous fluid wept from the cracks. It wasn't sewage—it was silty, cold, and smelled of peat and rust. But at fifteen metres, the tunnel opened up

"Jake, you seeing this?" Dave whispered, pointing his helmet camera at the inscription.