People continue to astound me; and those of us of the minority that possess kindness and compassion must stand together as brothers, lest we be swept away. Let me explain...
It's almost been a month here in the new Blackpool flat, and it certainly just peaked in its bid for worlds most stressful apartments! First off, let me give you the scoop - when Mum and Ian first moved in (actually a month ago now), there was a list of things that they provided the landlords with that needed sorting out.
The curtains in the bedrooms don't pull properly - after the handyman looked at it, he determined that the tops of the poles that the curtain loops run on was rusted, which is why they wouldn't pull. So, instead of turning the poles one-eighty and applying some WD40 (as the undersides of the poles aren't rusted at all), he disappeared saying they'll get new curtain poles and return which, of course, they haven't.
We moved the sofas around to better see the TV from both, and found a pile of dirt and rubbish under each! Whilst this was cleaned up by the cleaning team, the alcove that leads from the living room into the kitchen was covered in damp marks, where water has leaked in. Instead of professionally righting the damp and the upholstery, the handyman (actually the handyman's partner this time) sanded down the wall so you could barely see the damp (which you can clearly see once more, now). She put one sheet down to collect the dust, on the floor, and in this case, one sheet was not plenty. The kitchen surfaces and table were covered in dust; along with both sofas in the living room. Once more, we got the cleaners called out, but still that was a few days we couldn't use the kitchen.
The toilet seat in "the kids bathroom" (i.e. the bathroom that Katie, Jack and I use - Mum and Ian have their own), was broken - the seat and lid wouldn't stay up unless you held it, and shifted about when you moved your weight even the tiniest bit when sat on it. Not ideal! But, once more, the handyman came out and fixed it. Huzzah!
All of the windows in the flat have two panes; not double glazed, I hasten to add, but double paned. All the outer panes, which are old-style windows, have mould around the wood, and the inner pane in our room squeals like a stuck pig when you move it either up or down - needless to say it stays up for ease on our ears now. Another minor problem that was sorted fairly well was the front door - the hallway carpet was too high for it, and meant you had to shoulder-barge the heavy door to open it as you came in. Luckily the handyman sanded the bottom (once more without sheets) and it now opens and closes smoothly.
More than a week ago, the shower in Mum and Ian's bathroom packed up, water leaking from the control unit knobs instead of coursing up through the spout and pipes. Only today has a plumber called to organise when to come round; tomorrow, I believe. Finally.
And now onto the main point of order - the oven. Our first few attempts at using it resulted in uncooked or overcooked mess' - the temperature didn't raise to anywhere near what it was set to most of the time, and the few times it did raise, it shot up and scorched the food. So, an electrician was sent out and replaced the oven; excellent! But ah, no, it started doing the same no more than a few days afterwards. Friday evening, when entertaining Ian's cousins, the oven turned itself off mid-cook, forcing us to go out and buy fish and chips for all.
Mum rang the landlords for a good twenty minutes with no answer before heading off to get the food, and the oven continued to play up - turning itself off and on every fifteen minutes or so. We found out the controls at the front of the unit were overheating; somehow the heat was leaking from the oven up into the controls of the oven and tripping some heat cut-off. This morning, when Mum rang, the landlord flatly refused to pay expenses for the fish and chips we were forced to buy, not to mention the food that was ruined by the faulty oven, and was extremely rude to boot, denying that we rang on Friday and insisting that we must have got the wrong number. Essentially, the gist of the conversation was "I'm not going to pay for the food, I'll just release you from your contract, How soon can you move out?"
The audacity of some people is amazing, and it makes me all the gladder to be part of the "Games Workshop Geeks" community, as I have evidential proof that there remains some decent people in the world still. But unfortunately that number is dwindling, and we must strive to keep at bay the tidal wave of idiocy and rudeness that is threatening to overwhelm us all. Keep fighting, friends!