Our Boiler

Our boiler is broken. We could have told Roberts that this was going to happen. In fact, we DID tell them that it was going to happen. Oh, but I don't think I've yet mentioned our glorious letting agency, Roberts. Well. Let's see. We paid £700 in fees/deposit before we even moved into the property, and then found out that NOTHING worked. I'm going to post an article my housemates wrote about just how shit they actually are, because I can't be arsed to go into it myself.

Anyway. So, we wrote them a letter explaining that the boiler is dodgy, and then on Friday we discovered that our heating had packed up. Fab. Only on the coldest night of the year, mind you.

Saturday morning I ring them THREE times to find out just what they're going to do about it. Eventually 'Oh, did we not tell you. Yes, the plumbers will be round soon."
Thanks for letting us know, you silly cow.
Two 12-year olds arrive at our door an hour later. Apparently, they're the plumbers. Well, one of them is. The other one is work experience boy, and a gormless looking one at that. Seriously, neither of them looks old enough to drive the van that they've just parked (rather badly, might I add) outside our driveway.

Maggie walks into the kitchen just as they take the cover off the boiler. Both the boys stare at it. There's water dripping EVERYWHERE.
"Well, it's not 'appy" says the plumber.
Really? We could have told them that. They're not being paid £50 an hour to tell us that our boiler isn't happy.
"Well, what's wrong with it?" Maggie asks.
"I dunno. But it's not 'appy." Work experience boy nods gormlessly in agreement.
After a lengthy examiination, the plumber pronounces our boiler fucked.
"It's gonna need a real expensive repair job, or a new boiler" he says sagely.
Well done, Captain Obvious. That didn't occur to us, at all.

We ring Roberts again.
"Well, basically the plumber isn't qualified to fix your boiler," the woman says. No surprise there, love.
"So, you're gonna have to hold on till Monday for the electrician to come round."

I'm writing this wrapped in my flannel pj's, gown, wearing two pairs of socks and have a hot water bottle to boot. Thank goodness I'm going back to London tonight. It might be a rat-infested, smoggy, overcrowded, with a shit transport system that NEVER works, hellhole, but at least it's warm.