Well, there I was at the Spring Equinox, traditionally a time when Things Happen, still at the House by the River, minding my own business and thinking ‘I’ll just do the cat’s litter tray before I go shopping’, and crouching over it, little plastic spade in hand, and thought that’s funny, he seems to have peed on the dining room floor right next to the tray in the hall. He’d never done this before, and I was still thinking ‘Cheeky Monkey…’ and 'or is he not well?' as I opened the door fully.
Oh Jesus.
Homed in on the radiator in the far corner. The pipe coming out of the floor had parted from its joint into the radiator. It was spurting out nicely. Had presumably been doing so for hours. Half an inch deep and rising, spreading into the hall. Where it would have got under the vinyl and wrecked the cork tile under that.
I say dining room but the house owners used it as an office, and I used it as Mother's bedroom. There was a load of equipment–for–the–disabled, her hanging wardrobe rail, an old tv, old hi–fi (yes, that old) bags of newspapers which were soaking up the water nicely (I was intending to use those as packing material, not to mention being a fount of Sudokus), a carpet piece about 4 yards by 3, oh God knows what else under the desk and all of it saturated.
Phoned the agent in Glossop, thinking they’d be the fastest to get a local plumber up to me despite my lease now being managed by another of their offices 20 miles away. Told the lady it was an emergency and explained why.
I have never cleared a room so fast in my life.
Turned off the water tap at the tank where it came in from the spring. And took photos, thinking ‘insurance’ and ‘owners’.
Continued carrying out electricals and fax machine into the hall and kitchen, and stuff into the garden where it could water the plants. I emptied and dismantled the heavy steel desk and got that out. I mopped and mopped and emptied buckets (it took a while for the whole system to drain down) and mopped again.
Phoned the other agent's office 20 miles away., in desperation. Left urgent message on answering machine and she called back. “Oh,” she says, “I got a message an hour ago from the Glossop lot. They said to give you a call because you had a problem with one of the radiators.”
I will never divulge the words which went through my mind. Let’s just say obscenities and blasphemies tightly woven.
Waited for the plumber, laid down a carpet of the driest newspapers, and walked up and down, and up and down, squelching every step. Bare feet now because the stain was coming off the parquet tiles and my shoes were looking a bit ruined but still within rescue limits.
Squelch squelch, more newspapers, every step squeezing water bubbling out from the foam layer under the tiles. Six hours of walking up and down interspersed with the odd cup of coffee.
The plumber arrived, and mended the radiator joint. He also helped me to carry out the sodden carpet which of course weighed a ton, and we draped it wide over a selection of walking frames, shower stool, commode etc, to drip it dry in merciful sunshine. You’ll have noticed the black water in the flood. That was all that radiator ‘inhibitor’ so carefully administered by the last workmen on the property.
So I played the hosepipe over the carpet, until there was no more black stuff seeping out of it, the water ran clear, and the weather was kind enough to stay dry.
Nobody came to inspect. For a very good estate agent, this really surprised me. The new tenants were planning their move in, (and I discovered weeks later they’d still not been told about the flood) and I was packing like no tomorrow, and despite my efforts to save the floor it continued to swell and buckle. I had heavy weights on the worst bits hoping to flatten them back into position as they shrank and dried. Failed. Take the weight off and they sprang up again into shallow pyramids. I really, really wanted to save that lovely floor. I’d been told by the neighbour how painstakingly the owner had laid it.
After I’d moved, me and friend Mari went back to collect some leftover things from the shed and the loft. The room had been refloored in plastic wood–effect laminate. The wooden parquet had been from Ikea, and it hadn’t been expensive when the owner laid it, (and I could have told them there were spare tiles in the loft – I did tell them only a small portion of the floor was ruined out of shape). But there you are. All that effort for nothing. I gave a none too subtle hint about a small rebate on the rent, for the effort I’d put in etc, but the answer from the agent was a flat No.
Oh well, don’t ask – don’t get.
But it was so laughable – living by the river, a very active little river, between it and a very active waterfall, and where do I get my flood from? Pathetic. Serves me right for having a go at John Lewis advert, back then. And yet, and yet, I was so lucky. Could have left the house, unknowing, for the day. It was such a small flood and easily dealt with. I can not imagine what it’s like to have proper flooding, and everything it touches contaminated and condemned. Even the half-dozen bags of newspaper had been fortuitous - they soaked up so much.
The couple who were moving in were doing it on the tab from their insurers, while their ground floor was stripped out and refitted, new kitchen and all. Their house was at the bottom of a hill. There was a mad rainstorm. The council hadn't cleared the gutters for years. Oh the irony of it all.
