Saturday marked 92 weeks since "the event". It wasn't a cause for celebration, I can tell you! And-I've decided that once I get to two years exactly, I will stop marking the passing weeks on my calendar. There comes a point where I just need to move on, and that point is rapidly approaching. The more I count, the more depressed I feel.
On Sunday I did the usual stuff: laundry, eating, watching television, eating, some walking, eating...you get the picture!! When I get down, I eat. I should be the size of a house by now!!
In the afternoon, I decided to wash my hair. Now, in this little apartment of mine, I have an electric shower. It sounds better than it is; even with electricity, the thing just trickles. I might as well use a bucket. But, never mind, it's a shower...and when I was finished, I switched the power off - and nothing happened. The switch is in the hallway-I turned it off and on, and off again, and the pump to empty the water just kept going. It's a pump that is loud enough to wake someone in the next county - and it just kept going.
Across the hall from the bathroom is my little storage room. When I moved in, the moving men joked that it is big enough to rent out as a second bedroom. I've seen rooms listed as bedrooms that aren't that much larger than this one - and I filled it with boxes of stuff I need to go through. And the fusebox is at the other end, just past a load of boxes. The room itself isn't more than 3x5, but I had to move boxes and climb over other boxes to get to the switch to turn off the power to the shower. I did this-and what a Kodak moment that would have been, right up there with climbing over the back (and front) seats of my car to get to the door to unlock it. Another gem that will never see the light of YouTube. The fact that I found it so hilarious that I started laughing didn't help anything, either.
Someone else might have been swearing; I just found it funny-after I did all the swearing.
The only good thing - as far as I'm concerned - about living in a council property is the fact that there is a repairs number to call if anything goes wrong. So I rang the emergency out of hours number-and I swear, they all must know who I am by now (Homes for Haringey, remember them??), because an hour later an electrician arrived, swore at all the boxes, but was able to switch off the power to the shower and pump. He said someone will call me to make an appointment to investigate, then off he went.
Yesterday, I went with my friend to the Tate Modern, one of my favorite places in the city. Before I left, I actually got a text telling me that someone would come today -some time today- to have a look at the shower. And the same man arrived at 12:30. I was ready for him: no boxes. They are everywhere: bedroom, kitchen and lounge-but not in the storage room. Hah!! He was surprised.
Is it fixed? No. One part to go-allegedly-and that will be done some time on Thursday. But at least I now know where the secret switch is for the shower!
We are never given any time for any appointment-only between 8 and 5 - it is as if our time is unimportant. And, because this area is filled with disabled people, employees talk to us as if we are about 6 years old and probably deaf. On many occasions I have had to tell people off: I may have grey hair and walk with a walking stick, but I am not old, or senile, or deaf. And I never used to be grumpy!!
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment