Today feels like the kind of day that needs to be immortalised in blog form. The kind of day where you finally get home and laugh, because somehow, the events that have preceded it are too ridiculous to process. I believe there are a few examples of such days deep within these pages...
It all started at 7:30 this morning. A normal Thursday, wondering what the inpatient ward was going to throw at us that day, albeit rather wet outside. The inclement weather necessitated a rain coat, and as I opened the door to the cupboard that stored said coat, I did think to myself, "I haven't actually opened this cupboard door in weeks."
What I was greeted with, apart from the ensemble of junk that is thrown in there and forgotten about, was a trickle of water from the ceiling, straight down my golf bag which, it turns out, was now half full with water. The mould that had gathered on the ceiling was biblical and there was a sizable bump on the ceiling. This was going to cave in, at any moment.
I rushed upstairs, for the leak must have been coming from the flat above. I knocked on his door, to no response. I banged hard on his door, to no response. I opened the letterbox and shouted, "Emergency!" through it, to no response.
All I could hear was silence, with the intermittent sounds of running water.
"Is he in trouble?", I thought to myself. I was now torn between worrying about my flat flooding and the welfare of this admittedly loud and obnoxious neighbour. I ended up calling 111 - that non-emergency number - and asked what I should do.
The result was the appearance of a single paramedic who tried all the same things I did to no avail. Knock on the door. Bang on the door. Shout through the letterbox. Nothing, but the noise of running water...
"Well, I've got to call the fire brigade and break in", he said, nonchalantly and with no warning. All of a sudden, things felt rather real. Within minutes, a team of firefighters were dragging heavy kit up the main staircase, including one of those battering rams you only ever see on '24 Hours in Police Custody' as they bust open a drug den.
I was told to go back to my flat and wait inside, with only the increasingly heavy leak pounding the bottom of a bucket for company.
Now, the flats in this block have just been fitted with brand new doors, so they are probably the sturdiest they will ever be, but the fire brigade took at least 15 minutes to crash through that door. It was like a building site. Neighbours came outside to enquire what the hell the noise was.
Crash. Crash. Crash.
I had half an eye on proceedings upstairs, and half an eye on the now growing bump in my ceiling and the small cracks that had started to form, with more water seeping through them. This is going to go...
Crash. Crash. Crash.
Finally, they got in. What they were greeted with was a blissfully unaware man in his late-50s sitting on his sofa watching TV.
I kid you not. He had not moved. He had a neighbour banging on his door and shouting "Emergency!" through the letterbox. He had a paramedic do the same. HE HAD FIVE FIREFIGHTERS TRYING TO SMASH HIS DOOR DOWN WITH A BATTERING RAM.
"Oh, sorry, I just thought the council were doing some work."
Flabbergasted doesn't cut it. Annoyed doesn't cut it. Laughably moronic doesn't cut it. There is no word or phrase in the English language that adequately described that situation. He then had the cheek to be angry to the fireman for breaking his door down.
"Well, at least he's alive", said the lone paramedic, as he laughed his way back to his Vauxhall.
But the story doesn't end there.
One of the firemen stopped by my flat on the way down to have a look at the leak. It turns out the source of the leak was from the flat upstairs, via a broken water valve in a small cupboard. No one's fault. I can't say I'd have noticed it if it was me. One of those things, I guess.
The fireman came into my flat, looked at the bump and the continuously leaking water and made the sure fire mistake of poking it.
Crash!
Through came the water. The fireman took the brunt of the force, with the now multiple buckets helping out and only some water making it out into the hallway. Much to the delight of his mates, he was now drenched. It was an amusing moment in an otherwise farcical morning.
So, the water was off. The leaked water had escaped; and I'd seemingly got away with very minor damage and a strong smell of damp.
By this time it was 10am, and I was two hours late for work. They knew what was happening, but whatever happened from here, I knew I was in for a long day as I'd now have to finish at 8pm and not 4pm like normal.
To my landlord's credit, (I am a council tenant, so it's a housing association), they sent round an electrician to make sure it was all safe, (it was), before I went off to work, leaving my poor Mother to negotiate the influx of other tradesmen who were coming to fix the ceiling.
This is the point where we found out I have an asbestos problem. To be honest, given how today has gone, I'm not even surprised. At one point, I thought I wasn't going to be allowed to go home but, again, to my landlord's credit, they arranged for a crack team of asbestos specialists to come round and cut away the asbestos.
So now I'm home. Typing this. The smell of damp still persists, there are small puddles in the hallway and there is brick work exposed on the ceiling with a fuse box nearby, but I'll always have the story of how a neighbour of mine didn't realise that firefighters were smashing his door down as he watched Loose Women.
Sometimes all you can do is laugh, right?
