“Oh, dear, what can the matter be, three old
ladies locked in the lavatory…”
We used to
sing that at primary school and it seemed hilarious. It came into my head this morning as I prepared to phone the local council and (very old lady-like) give them a
piece of my mind.
The handle
of Nick’s bathroom door started coming loose just after New Year and I thought
we must keep an eye on it.
By the day of his party, the metal plate had worked
itself away from the wood, a couple of the screws were hanging perilously out
of their plugs and Simon had to bring his toolbox round to screw it all back
in.
At the old
flat, he’d pulled the towel rail right off the wall in the first week. We
thought that it was pretty amazing if this was the only casualty so far of his well-known
super strength, and I felt quite pleased, thinking that this place obviously
suits him better, is much more spacious for manouevre and seems to be a lot sturdier under the constant crashing and
bumping around.
By the
weekend the handle was only hanging on by a thread like a wobbly tooth. The wood
around it was so wrecked that it needed some proper attention beyond our first
aid, and I phoned the repairs team at the council the day after his birthday
and booked an appointment for their handyman to come round. No problem, we'll see you on Tuesday. Gosh, the joys of
being a council tenant! I thought. Except not, because he didn’t turn up. I was away for a couple of days
visiting our stepmother so I didn’t find out until nearly the end of the week.
I did
wonder if he’d come and Nick hadn’t heard the buzzer, but most of the council
workers had access to the key safe and the Trade entrance, or would have left a
card.
Phoned the
council. A surly man on the helpline did not want to help.
“But this is a health and safety
problem!”
He told me
that it didn’t sound like an emergency and he couldn’t book another visit until
the end of the month.
“Please. Can’t we do anything sooner, given that this is a vulnerable person and
we’ve already had a missed appointment?”
Nope. Talk to the hand. The
computer says No.
A few days
later I tried again and spoke to a nice woman who said she couldn’t get an
appointment any sooner but she would log a complaint about the no-show. Should
we just find our own handyman and get it done privately? No, she says, as it is
a furnished property and therefore needs to be dealt with by the council
service.
So we’ve had
the whole thing taped up with gaffer tape and tightened up the last shaky screw head every time we’re there, but it’s been an accident waiting to happen.
It’s no use
reminding Nick to leave the door open when he goes to the loo, because he says
“I will” and then always forgets and
slams it shut.
And sure
enough, last night I got a call from the Citywide Alarm service saying they
were with my brother who had been stuck in the bathroom unable to open the door
as the handle had fallen off altogether. Thank goodness he’d been wearing his
alarm pendant, which he doesn’t always remember to do.
Thank
goodness he is a bit dazed but totally matter of fact about it, safe and not in any
way hurt.
When I go round later to make sure all is well, he tells me “a
man from the council has been round to say the door will be fixed tomorrow”
Wow, that
was fast! The alarm team must have raised their concerns and it’s finally got
things moving. It seems to take an accident for that to happen, I think to
myself and not for the first time.
So this
morning I phoned up to check that someone really will be coming today, as we
were going to take Nick into town to get his broken glasses fixed. Another helpful
woman had a look and said, yes it is on the list but not necessarily marked as
urgent, however she would escalate it to an emergency call out to be made within
four hours.
I have a bad feeling about this...
