Boiling blood

Plumbers then, let's talk about plumbers.

Plumbers and I do not have a good history.  My plumber aversion, believe it or not, actually started before I even owned a property.  I rented for a while in Bethnal Green, and the boiler there was on its last legs.  The landlord was very good, but lived a long way away, so called a plumber and agreed to pay for any works... all I had to do was stay in and let him in. The plumber let me down three times.  Three wasted Saturday mornings.  When I phoned him to query, either the phone was in his van, or he couldn't find the parts or - well - any old balls actually.

Then, when I got my own place, the heating system needed works, plus I needed a washing machine plumbed in... queue another raft of wasted evenings and weekends waiting for someone to come round, patronise me, drink all my
coffee and overcharge me for the privilege.

Over the course of the years, I've had the occasional boiler problem, always (so far) covered by boiler insurance.  Last time, however, I had Plumber from Hell.  Let's be straight about something.  Obviously all plumbers are from Hell.  But this one was Chief Daemon.  In a boiler suit.

Don't believe me?  Read about it here:

http://laurasplog.blogspot.com/2008/04/plumb-fool.html

On Friday morning I was without hot water.  "Never mind," thought I.  "I shall phone my emergency plumbing people and they will despatch a plumber pronto!"

I phoned them. They said they could send someone out on Saturday evening. I said that wasn't really what I had in mind when it came to "emergency" insurance.  I shouted a bit.  They sent someone round the same day.

I opened the door.  I recognised the plumber.  It was the same git from before.

"You can watch my car while I'm here," he said.

"No," I said.  "Here is a parking permit.  I am working from home today. Whilst they are fairly flexible with me, I'm not sure traffic warden really fits into my reportable skill sets."

"Whilst I'm reparking the car, clear this cupboard out," he said to me.

I did.  Whilst I scattered disintegrating plastic bags over the kitchen floor, the cleaner tutted at me.

The plumber returned.  "I see you haven't had the remedial work done I said you should."

"Well, we got a second opinion and he said it was fine."

"It isn't.  Look at it.  Does a boiler come out of the factory looking like that?"

"I don't know.  I can honestly say I've never been to a boiler factory."

"Use your common sense."

(I think I must have been born without boiler common sense.  I suppose there are worse things.)

He set to work on the boiler.  The next thing I heard was an indignant "Miaow!", swiftly followed by a, "Stupid cat!".  I returned to the kitchen in time to see a disgruntled Monty Cat being launched across the room by the scruff of his neck.

This meant I had to shut him in the bedroom with the cleaner.  This was ideal for no-one.  The cleaner is allergic to the cat.  The cat doesn't like the cleaner because she makes the hoover make scary hoovery noises. No-one was happy with the outcome.

Least of all me.  When the plumber left an hour later, he had not only failed to fix the boiler but a) couldn't tell me how long it would be until the part arrived b) couldn't tell me if it was covered by my insurance and c) told me I'd probably need several thousand pounds worth of plumbing work done on it before it was even safe to fit the part.

I have had a few days of cold showers and swearing.  I am imagining there may be more to come.