Life is not a gas
To say I've had a hard week would be a serious understatement. After the fun of last weekend filling the diesel car with unleaded, my bank balance has taken a small beating and looks to get cut to shreds after the getting the new tenants to my mum's house in Norfolk.
At the start of the week a CORGI registered plumber who'd been asked to check and issue a gas certificate discovered a gas leak. Instead of the simple £60 plus VAT he quoted around £300 to get it right (copper piping and man hours). I was told that the new tenants would start their contract on Wednesday but would be physically moving in on Friday with the a meeting arranged at 3pm to hand over keys and sign-off the inventory with Mark, a mate who did the renovation. The plumber told me he would leave the certificate in the house well before they moved in. At this point I haven't been invoiced for the work.
Tuesday I had arranged to pick up my Ebay winnings from Peacehaven. One of the best bargains yet of the 5 Blu-ray disc set of Blade Runner in special briefcase, movie stills, model car and origami model for £52. I had the Google map of the postcode but after arriving at the address road I'd forgotten to take note of the house number! All I remembered was it was a deci-number i.e. something 30, 40, 50 etc. I tried number 30 and after a couple of minutes of latches and slipper shuffle noises an old geezer in bedrobes answered the door. I tried to explain my prediciment but only got the answer of 'what's an ebay?'. Peacehaven is quite the opposite of Brighton with the majority of people over 70. I tried using the Orange GPRS but no connection and even tried driving around finding a wi-fi sginal. In the end I had to return home and be an hour late.
Back to the 'Rigsby' story, Friday lunchtime came and the estate agent who'd found the tenant rang to say there wasn't a certificate in the house and warned me they wouldn't hand over the keys until the certificate was seen. Okay, so the estate agent is being a little too paranoid but the plumber had let me down. A phonecall, he promises to deliver it within the hour. Estate agent tries again and calls me to say it isn't there. I remind him again and the reason he hadn't done it is because he hasn't got my home address. As the estate agent calls again threatening with serious implications he rolls up and the first drama is solved. Mark shows them around and reports back a nice professional couple from Chorley.
At about 6:00pm I receive a call on my mobile which totally freaks me out. For sentimental reasons I hadn't deleted my mum's home phone number so what seemed to be a call from her was quite unnerving. Obviously, BT had simply re-activated the old number for the house and the new tenants had called with their first problem - no hot water. I set Mark to look at it but he couldn't fix it so had to call the same plumber who must have done something to stop the water warming up. Luckily he was round there quite quickly but a call from the tenant later quickly revealed that he couldn't fix it. From here on the stress starts mounting as the new tenant's patience and friendliness quickly disappear. I assure them I would chase the plumber to get fixed during Saturday.
After quite a sleepless night I was awoken by a call at 8:30am by the tenants again. This time it was really serious with the smell and sound of leaking gas from the porch. Transco had been called and my stress levels had gone up a notch I haven't experienced after a long and demanding conversation. The same plumber was contacted and moaned at which he went straight round to the house. Another call to the tenants revealed that the plumber had been negligent with the acid flux and hadn't wiped it properly causing the leak. Transco guy laid it in thick to him and to other parts of the house like the wiring. Obviously, this was more ammunition for the tenants and another potential time-bomb to sort a different plumber. I tried about 4 different companies before finding a recommended one.
The good news, the new plumber got the hot water working, just. The bad news is that he can't guarantee how reliable it is and quoted me £5000 to replace the whole heating system! Plus the tenants don't trust the certificate issued so more cost.
Renter rest
After the stress and with Kerry still recovering from Ibiza we rented In Bruges. Probably the best film I've seen this year.
On Sunday I was glad of the absence of phonecalls and watched the final few hours of the Olympics. How cringing was the handover from the Brits? For the evening we used a 2for1 deal at the Gourmet Burger Kitchen with Paul and Sarah then went for cocktails finding a great little bar called OM Creations in Kemp Town.
Bank Holiday Monday was our first Peru training sessions with a 6 mile walk from Ditchling Beacon to Pyecombe. Two and a quarter hours in spitty rain and wind.
Our extended holiday continued on Tuesday and to take some of the stress away Kerry spoilt me to a full body massage. Little Ocean was located around the back of Brighton's not so nice end but the place was excellent.
Another black day
To our end mini-holiday I'd booked a Thames Barrier boat trip for Wednesday at 2:30pm. Before we left the house the washing machine commited laundry suicide and might have to get a new one. The boat trip I had planned in London f*cked up royally thanks to some very unhelpful people. Basically we came out at Embankment tube station, asked a local shop where Millennium pier was. We didn't think she gave the right place so asked the next pier's booth who directed us to the other side of the river. We queued up for 20 minutes until 5 minutes before we were supposed to get on the boat. I even showed a manager the email I received and he said to wait in the queue. Finally we get to the front and were told we were at the wrong place so to go to another pier on the same bank. We pegged it for ages but gave up - another location cock-up. A phonecall later and we've been rebooked for another date.
We headed back into town to Convent Garden but came away empty handed. At the tube station I realise I've lost my train/tube ticket! I have to stump up another £4 for the Underground and another £19 for a single to Brighton. Currently feeling very sorry for myself.
At the start of the week a CORGI registered plumber who'd been asked to check and issue a gas certificate discovered a gas leak. Instead of the simple £60 plus VAT he quoted around £300 to get it right (copper piping and man hours). I was told that the new tenants would start their contract on Wednesday but would be physically moving in on Friday with the a meeting arranged at 3pm to hand over keys and sign-off the inventory with Mark, a mate who did the renovation. The plumber told me he would leave the certificate in the house well before they moved in. At this point I haven't been invoiced for the work.
Tuesday I had arranged to pick up my Ebay winnings from Peacehaven. One of the best bargains yet of the 5 Blu-ray disc set of Blade Runner in special briefcase, movie stills, model car and origami model for £52. I had the Google map of the postcode but after arriving at the address road I'd forgotten to take note of the house number! All I remembered was it was a deci-number i.e. something 30, 40, 50 etc. I tried number 30 and after a couple of minutes of latches and slipper shuffle noises an old geezer in bedrobes answered the door. I tried to explain my prediciment but only got the answer of 'what's an ebay?'. Peacehaven is quite the opposite of Brighton with the majority of people over 70. I tried using the Orange GPRS but no connection and even tried driving around finding a wi-fi sginal. In the end I had to return home and be an hour late.
Back to the 'Rigsby' story, Friday lunchtime came and the estate agent who'd found the tenant rang to say there wasn't a certificate in the house and warned me they wouldn't hand over the keys until the certificate was seen. Okay, so the estate agent is being a little too paranoid but the plumber had let me down. A phonecall, he promises to deliver it within the hour. Estate agent tries again and calls me to say it isn't there. I remind him again and the reason he hadn't done it is because he hasn't got my home address. As the estate agent calls again threatening with serious implications he rolls up and the first drama is solved. Mark shows them around and reports back a nice professional couple from Chorley.
At about 6:00pm I receive a call on my mobile which totally freaks me out. For sentimental reasons I hadn't deleted my mum's home phone number so what seemed to be a call from her was quite unnerving. Obviously, BT had simply re-activated the old number for the house and the new tenants had called with their first problem - no hot water. I set Mark to look at it but he couldn't fix it so had to call the same plumber who must have done something to stop the water warming up. Luckily he was round there quite quickly but a call from the tenant later quickly revealed that he couldn't fix it. From here on the stress starts mounting as the new tenant's patience and friendliness quickly disappear. I assure them I would chase the plumber to get fixed during Saturday.
After quite a sleepless night I was awoken by a call at 8:30am by the tenants again. This time it was really serious with the smell and sound of leaking gas from the porch. Transco had been called and my stress levels had gone up a notch I haven't experienced after a long and demanding conversation. The same plumber was contacted and moaned at which he went straight round to the house. Another call to the tenants revealed that the plumber had been negligent with the acid flux and hadn't wiped it properly causing the leak. Transco guy laid it in thick to him and to other parts of the house like the wiring. Obviously, this was more ammunition for the tenants and another potential time-bomb to sort a different plumber. I tried about 4 different companies before finding a recommended one.
The good news, the new plumber got the hot water working, just. The bad news is that he can't guarantee how reliable it is and quoted me £5000 to replace the whole heating system! Plus the tenants don't trust the certificate issued so more cost.
Renter rest
After the stress and with Kerry still recovering from Ibiza we rented In Bruges. Probably the best film I've seen this year.
On Sunday I was glad of the absence of phonecalls and watched the final few hours of the Olympics. How cringing was the handover from the Brits? For the evening we used a 2for1 deal at the Gourmet Burger Kitchen with Paul and Sarah then went for cocktails finding a great little bar called OM Creations in Kemp Town.
Bank Holiday Monday was our first Peru training sessions with a 6 mile walk from Ditchling Beacon to Pyecombe. Two and a quarter hours in spitty rain and wind.
Our extended holiday continued on Tuesday and to take some of the stress away Kerry spoilt me to a full body massage. Little Ocean was located around the back of Brighton's not so nice end but the place was excellent.
Another black day
To our end mini-holiday I'd booked a Thames Barrier boat trip for Wednesday at 2:30pm. Before we left the house the washing machine commited laundry suicide and might have to get a new one. The boat trip I had planned in London f*cked up royally thanks to some very unhelpful people. Basically we came out at Embankment tube station, asked a local shop where Millennium pier was. We didn't think she gave the right place so asked the next pier's booth who directed us to the other side of the river. We queued up for 20 minutes until 5 minutes before we were supposed to get on the boat. I even showed a manager the email I received and he said to wait in the queue. Finally we get to the front and were told we were at the wrong place so to go to another pier on the same bank. We pegged it for ages but gave up - another location cock-up. A phonecall later and we've been rebooked for another date.
We headed back into town to Convent Garden but came away empty handed. At the tube station I realise I've lost my train/tube ticket! I have to stump up another £4 for the Underground and another £19 for a single to Brighton. Currently feeling very sorry for myself.
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