My Shitty House Strikes Again!

Some people would consider me lucky to own my own house.

(Well, I WOULD actually own it had I made some different decisions about 15 years ago. As it is the bank still own almost half of it).

Today, in fact MOST days I envy people who rent.

People who can pick up the phone to a renting agency or landlord and say, 'the bulbs exploded in one of the bathroom spotlights and I can't get the rest of it out' or 'the tumble dryer and the dishwasher are knackered' and out comes a man who can to fix things.

Yesterday was a really good day.

The children and I laughed and joked all morning until they went off to school with smiles on their faces.

The sun shone in the morning and Gus and I went for a romp in the park.  Gus was joined by Coco, the fattest chocolate lab I've ever seen but with whom Gus is totally in love.

I met the lovely L for coffee in town and Big D joined us.

I came home and cooked Shepherds Pie for tea (the children's favourite) and we cracked open the Quality St and watched the Christmas edition of My Family.

All was well in the Mac household.

And then BANG - everything went off.

Something had blown the trip.  It was dark, it was cold,  It was blowing a fucking gale outside and lashing down with rain.

We stumbled around in the dark unplugging everything and repeatedly trying the trip switch but no, it kept flipping off again.

Then I heard it.

Drip, drip, drip.

My shitty roof is leaking again and water was coming through the landing ceiling.

I HATE that fucking roof!

A couple of years ago it developed a leak and brought down part of my bedroom ceiling.

Well, fine, I had insurance so I called them up.

I would say they sent out a jumped up little twat but tbh even if he had jumped as high as he possibly could he wouldn't have made it to my shoulder.

Very small men either love me or hate me.  No idea why.  Either delusions of grandure (in stature) or an inferiority complex I guess.

Anyway, this one hated me on sight (despite two cups of effing tea and biscuits).

He went half way up the ladder to the loft (which meant his head was barely level with the hatch) got out his wind up torch - yes, I said WIND UP TORCH with a beam that a candle could have put to shame and pronounced the roof in bad repair and therefore NOT covered by insurance.

This despite the met office confirming gales the night before.

FUCK YOU insurance company for taking my money for over 20 years and sending a slimy little toad round to squirm out of coughing up.

So I forked out for a temporary fix and applied to the local council for a grant.

Well FUCK YOU TOO council.

Apparently my roof wasn't bad enough to warrant a grant to sort it.  Having been in place for over 100 years it had up to 5 years left before it completely fold and buries our bodies under the rubble!

So, that leave me with a roof that the insurance won't fix, the council won't fix and I can't afford to fucking fix!

Well, the electric inexplicable started working again.

This is either a good thing meaning that not much of the electrics got watered OR a bad thing in that they are working despite being wet and at some point the whole frigging house is going up in flames.

I decided not to take any chances and stayed awake all night listening to that bastard wind and rain lashing down.

Today I am tired and cranky and I want to burn the bloody house down myself and cut out the middle man!