Saturday, 10 October 2009

I was ever so slightly pissed off to get home from work last night and find that one of my light bulbs was hemorrhaging water all over the carpet. I thought something was wrong. I couldn't believe the amount of water that was coming out of the bulb... I mean, I always knew that these newfangled halogen bulbs were different, but this? This was insane. I had to dig out a bucket. What a depressing thing to have to do in your front room. Naturally, this was at two minutes past six and there was no way to get in contact with the estate agent.

However, today we have been in contact with them, and it seems that they've taken the choice of doing absolutely nothing at all (oh, except fob me off with their rimless spectacle bullshit of course). Can't say it comes as a surprise though, seeing as I've had a considerable amount of hassle since moving in over practically everything... including: the lack of a lock on the back door, the manky carpet that I was promised would be changed but never seemed to be, the leaking shower, the leaking shower again, the gaping hole that had somewhat inexplicably appeared in the ceiling in the time between me viewing the place and moving in, and the rotting corpse of an extractor fan in the bathroom. Of course, it would go without saying that the light fitting that this whole post has been about was also one of the things that my beloved agent had 'fixed' before happily taking my money, again and again. And again.

With this in mind, I took great pleasure in listening to my dad call them up earlier. He's a master of this kind of thing, and I've watched in awe over the years as he's gradually developed from his bullish technique of shouting obscenities over the phone in the early days into something much more subtle, playful and clever. It's great to see how he gains the upper hand and catches them out. For instance when they clearly don't answer his calls from a number that he's already used, so he then uses a different number which gets through straight away. So he questions why it is that he suddenly gets through now that he's calling from a different phone, only to be told that there are six lines in the office and that each one was busy a moment ago. Okay, he says, then asks to speak to the manager, only to be told by the guy on the phone that he's alone in the office... to which my dad says "Oh, so there's not six of you there today?"

I wish I could do that.

Another highlight of his calls was when he described the two bodgers that they've sent to fix things before as "Pinky and Perky". In truth they're more like the Chuckle Brothers.

Seeing as it's now twenty past five on a Saturday and they haven't actually returned a single call we've decided that I should now hold off paying any rent until they get somebody out to at least look at the problem. It's not fair and I'm fairly certain that a steady supply of water coming out of a light bulb is pretty dangerous. Surely this is in their best interests... surely I am in the right here. Appointmoor Estates of Chalkwell are very untrustworthy.

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