Gripes, grumbles and fun despite it all

Well, I have had a thoroughly pleasant weekend torpedoed by thoughtless happenstance. Or the Karma Pixies displaying their malevolence, I'm not sure which.

I did not expect, when I woke up this morning, to be £203 the poorer, but I am. Years of neglect by our landlord means that various defects in the fabric of the Athenaeum Club are all maxing out at the same time. In quick succession we have had the boiler pack up (still not fixed properly, folks), the hall lighting literally drop off the ceiling and now today, to my intense irritation, the lock on the outside door broke. The upshot being that ellefurtle and I were locked out for two hours, whilst colonel_maxim was locked in. We were blown off by an "emergency locksmith" who told us, yes, he would come out - but who, an hour later changed his mind. Four other 24/7 locksmiths proved otherwise, another quoted an hour's wait and a fee of £150 just to look at the damned thing - work and materials extra. In the end we spent £233 plus a few pence on a chap who actually came when he said he would, who effectively jemmied the door open and replaced part of the lock.

Well, we can get in and out and we can lock and unlock the door. For now. The locksmith said the main series of bolts are all worn out, so although he replaced the broken cylinder, he could not provide a guarantee. Moreover, the lock is of an old and obsolete style, so it will be cheaper to replace the entire door. All this, then, plus a request for reimbursement now have to go in a letter to the landlord. I just hope he doesn't think we're taking the piss, but the place is beginning to fall apart in the face of his lack of maintenance or expenditure; it's just wear and tear.

I am casting an increasingly nervous eye at the skylight over the stairs, outside my bedroom door up here in the Tower, which leaks and which I can see falling in completely at some point sooner rather than later. I just hope it survives the winter.

Beyond that, it has been a good, if lazy weekend. Yesterday ellefurtle, colonel_maxim, smokingboot and I disappeared out for lunch at the local Italian for VERY RARE steaks (although Miss Furtle had a chicken thing which was satisfyingly not rare) and then in the evening drank a large quantity of champagne and cava, supplemented with fine niblets and chewies to celebrate the end of The Colonel's training for his new job. A very fine evening of booze and chat indeed, which drew to a weary close around 3am this morning.

This afternoon, Miss Furtle and I wandered into Finchley with little else on our minds other than dropping the mountain of small change I have acquired over the past 18 months into the change machine in Sainsbury's. The resulting £37 paid for some groceries, a book each and a cup of coffee in Coffee Republic. It was only after that that the critical failure of the door mechanism torpedoed my morale.

Still, that's all behind me now. There's nothing quite like being back in residence to cheer a body up. Now if we can only get the money back for the running repairs and I can get my PC fixed (still using the lappie), the world will seem just that little bit rosier.

Right. I'm off now to arrange the baking of potatoes for our delayed dinner. Then, in just over half an hour as I type, the first two episodes of Torchwood are due to be broadcast on BBC 3. I can't tell you how much the 8 year old in me has been looking forward to this.

In case of extreme disappointment, I have torrented, but so far denied myself the pleasure of watching Battlestar Galactica episode four, which I am looking to round off or rescue an evening's entertainment, depending upon how things pan out.

Baked potatoes call, kids. See you later.

Gripes, grumbles and fun despite it all

Well, I have had a thoroughly pleasant weekend torpedoed by thoughtless happenstance. Or the Karma Pixies displaying their malevolence, I'm not sure which.

I did not expect, when I woke up this morning, to be £203 the poorer, but I am. Years of neglect by our landlord means that various defects in the fabric of the Athenaeum Club are all maxing out at the same time. In quick succession we have had the boiler pack up (still not fixed properly, folks), the hall lighting literally drop off the ceiling and now today, to my intense irritation, the lock on the outside door broke. The upshot being that ellefurtle and I were locked out for two hours, whilst colonel_maxim was locked in. We were blown off by an "emergency locksmith" who told us, yes, he would come out - but who, an hour later changed his mind. Four other 24/7 locksmiths proved otherwise, another quoted an hour's wait and a fee of £150 just to look at the damned thing - work and materials extra. In the end we spent £233 plus a few pence on a chap who actually came when he said he would, who effectively jemmied the door open and replaced part of the lock.

Well, we can get in and out and we can lock and unlock the door. For now. The locksmith said the main series of bolts are all worn out, so although he replaced the broken cylinder, he could not provide a guarantee. Moreover, the lock is of an old and obsolete style, so it will be cheaper to replace the entire door. All this, then, plus a request for reimbursement now have to go in a letter to the landlord. I just hope he doesn't think we're taking the piss, but the place is beginning to fall apart in the face of his lack of maintenance or expenditure; it's just wear and tear.

I am casting an increasingly nervous eye at the skylight over the stairs, outside my bedroom door up here in the Tower, which leaks and which I can see falling in completely at some point sooner rather than later. I just hope it survives the winter.

Beyond that, it has been a good, if lazy weekend. Yesterday ellefurtle, colonel_maxim, smokingboot and I disappeared out for lunch at the local Italian for VERY RARE steaks (although Miss Furtle had a chicken thing which was satisfyingly not rare) and then in the evening drank a large quantity of champagne and cava, supplemented with fine niblets and chewies to celebrate the end of The Colonel's training for his new job. A very fine evening of booze and chat indeed, which drew to a weary close around 3am this morning.

This afternoon, Miss Furtle and I wandered into Finchley with little else on our minds other than dropping the mountain of small change I have acquired over the past 18 months into the change machine in Sainsbury's. The resulting £37 paid for some groceries, a book each and a cup of coffee in Coffee Republic. It was only after that that the critical failure of the door mechanism torpedoed my morale.

Still, that's all behind me now. There's nothing quite like being back in residence to cheer a body up. Now if we can only get the money back for the running repairs and I can get my PC fixed (still using the lappie), the world will seem just that little bit rosier.

Right. I'm off now to arrange the baking of potatoes for our delayed dinner. Then, in just over half an hour as I type, the first two episodes of Torchwood are due to be broadcast on BBC 3. I can't tell you how much the 8 year old in me has been looking forward to this.

In case of extreme disappointment, I have torrented, but so far denied myself the pleasure of watching Battlestar Galactica episode four, which I am looking to round off or rescue an evening's entertainment, depending upon how things pan out.

Baked potatoes call, kids. See you later.