Fatbergs: What do these blubbery clots say about our society and how can we deal with them?

If the soul of human fellowship could take on a physical form, it would most probably resemble one of the fatty leviathans invading our sewers, says Harry Cockburn

Sculpture or sneak peak of the future? Some bergs can grow as high as seven double-decker buses (Joe Pepler/PinPep)

When I was a student, my girlfriend and I went on a winter weekend trip to Paris. We wore long black coats and stayed in a forlorn hotel in a narrow street in Bastille. We spent the weekend drinking in peculiar half-empty bars, and our one “activity” was to go on a romantic tour of Paris’s sewers.

Descending a stone staircase from street level, visitors step down from the busy riverside pavement into the cool gloom where the sewer’s vapours slowly envelop you. A rush of water can be heard, a moistness in the air becomes apparent, and ahead, a wide river flows from a tunnel into a well-lit central atrium.

It is like stepping into a scene from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, though instead of gazing upon an edible paradise, everything smells like weak s**t and occasionally a floater sails swiftly along. Paris’s cavernous sewers have been one of the city of lights’ proudest achievements since they came into operation in their modern form in the 1850s, and it's easy to understand why. They are a no-nonsense powerhouse of efficient waste evacuation.