Minor Catastrophes
When I traipsed through the hallway on Monday morning, I stepped into something wet. I asked Mark if he had noticed or done anything that could have caused said wet patch, but his answer was negative. We were mildly intrigued but it didn't seem immediately worrying, so we went to work as normal.
By the evening, the wet patch had grown considerably, to the point that Mark had to spread one of our spare towels across the floor to soak up the worst of it, and the boiler wouldn't fire as a warning light indicated that water pressure was too low. Hrm. I e-mailed our landlords (an agency) to let them know that we appeared to have a leaky pipe. I also pointed it out to our downstairs neighbour, but nothing was showing on his ceiling (yet).
When the next morning I still hadn't heard anything from our landlords even after the agency had been open for several hours, I chased them about it. They said they'd hired a plumber and he'd be in touch with us directly. I chased the plumber. It was early afternoon by the time I got a hold of him. He said he'd come by on Thursday. I asked him if he couldn't make it any earlier. "You said you're not home right now, didn't you?" "Yes, I'm at work... but I can be home in half an hour!" "Nope, not fast enough. Can't fit you in. Thursday it is."
For two days, Mark and I lived the slightly subdued lives of people who have no hot water or heating in winter: wrapped up tightly at home, using the kettle a lot (it got more use in those couple of days than it had seen since we moved in, since neither of us drinks tea or coffee), engaging in awkward washing rituals in the morning. Mark also complained that my dry shampoo made my hair smell funny.
Thursday morning I was already standing by the open door the moment the plumber's van arrived. He pulled away the carpet, inspected the wet area and pointed out that there was water dripping down from the radiator. He pulled out a wrench, tightened a nut and it stopped. "Well, that was easy!"
I was simultanously relieved and embarrassed; though truth be told, since neither Mark nor I are DIY wizzes, we would have needed to call a plumber anyway, even if we had noticed that it was the radiator leaking.
Now I feel like I never want to turn the boiler off again.
By the evening, the wet patch had grown considerably, to the point that Mark had to spread one of our spare towels across the floor to soak up the worst of it, and the boiler wouldn't fire as a warning light indicated that water pressure was too low. Hrm. I e-mailed our landlords (an agency) to let them know that we appeared to have a leaky pipe. I also pointed it out to our downstairs neighbour, but nothing was showing on his ceiling (yet).
When the next morning I still hadn't heard anything from our landlords even after the agency had been open for several hours, I chased them about it. They said they'd hired a plumber and he'd be in touch with us directly. I chased the plumber. It was early afternoon by the time I got a hold of him. He said he'd come by on Thursday. I asked him if he couldn't make it any earlier. "You said you're not home right now, didn't you?" "Yes, I'm at work... but I can be home in half an hour!" "Nope, not fast enough. Can't fit you in. Thursday it is."
For two days, Mark and I lived the slightly subdued lives of people who have no hot water or heating in winter: wrapped up tightly at home, using the kettle a lot (it got more use in those couple of days than it had seen since we moved in, since neither of us drinks tea or coffee), engaging in awkward washing rituals in the morning. Mark also complained that my dry shampoo made my hair smell funny.
Thursday morning I was already standing by the open door the moment the plumber's van arrived. He pulled away the carpet, inspected the wet area and pointed out that there was water dripping down from the radiator. He pulled out a wrench, tightened a nut and it stopped. "Well, that was easy!"
I was simultanously relieved and embarrassed; though truth be told, since neither Mark nor I are DIY wizzes, we would have needed to call a plumber anyway, even if we had noticed that it was the radiator leaking.
Now I feel like I never want to turn the boiler off again.