Flood

So, you remember my last post where I lamented the woes of letting. Yes?  Well, two weeks later our house flooded.  I suspect there is some demi-god of habitation who took offence at my post, and took it upon themselves to smite me.  So, justly smoted (smited? Smitten?) I am now gradually getting back into the swing of things.

We had been at our current house for just under two months, and I had returned from work one evening to an empty house (except for Willow and Tangent, of course. And the fish - they don't go out much) as Husband had recently started a job that means he works away overnight.  After taking a bath, I returned downstairs and noticed that the back door was open which slightly concerned me since I was sure I locked it.  Deciding I was probably mistaken, I carried on with my evening of home-alone frivolity (which basically entailed watching TV and eating Twix bars).  I then heard what sounded like creaking floorboards upstairs.  Of course, I immediately surmised that someone had got in the house and was meandering about upstairs (it couldn't possibly be due being in a new house and not knowing all it's peculiar sounds yet).
I went upstairs into our bedroom, grabbed a couple of martial arts weapons which are always lying about as trip hazards (thanks Husband!) and slowly made my way from room to room, checking behind doors as I went.  Satisfied that there was no one else in the house (and proving I tend towards paranoia) I headed to bed.

I woke up at 6am to the sound of torrential rain thundering outside, but after a few minutes I realised that I couldn't hear any rain hitting the windows.  I sat up and looked outside at the empty, dry sky.  Hmm. I listened closely to the rain, and thought it sounded like a flushing toilet.  I got up and flipped the light switch, but there was no light.  I concluded that there was indeed someone in the house and they were messing with my head (it's the sort of psychological warfare I'd employ if I were sociopathic. Ha! If).

Opening the bedroom door, I stepped out into an inch of water. Thinking many glorious, colourful (and unsavoury) curses, I finally realised there was a flood. I waded to the bathroom, and peered through the darkness at the water literally cascading from the ceiling.  It was too dark to see where it was coming from.

I then rushed downstairs to check on the dogs.  Tangent was sat meekly at the bottom of the stairs having a bit of a breakdown, and I couldn't find Willow.  Going back upstairs, I found her cowering in the spare bedroom - smart dog; get above the water!  I brought her downstairs, then checked the kitchen, where it was happily raining like the Amazon rainforest.  Next, I phoned Husband and in my most calm and collected manner, blurted the situation to him (he had to ask me several times to repeat myself).  Fortunately, he was able to arrange emergency cover and was on his way, once he deciphered my incoherent stuttering.

I then attempted to find the tenancy paperwork, and cursing my somewhat neglected filing system, found the emergency plumber number.  Impressively, he was out within 20 minutes.  He checked the attic, thinking it may have been a burst tank, but there was no tank, so that wasn’t the source.  Eventually, it transpired that it was the cold water inlet pipe to the toilet that had a tiny crack.  The plumber turned off the mains water supply, and replaced the pipe, and that was it.  All that drama over something so innocuous and simple to fix!

 The offending pipe

Husband arrived just as the plumber was leaving, and there was a momentary calm as the immediate situation was over.  We obviously didn't have any electric since the circuit broke after being doused in water. But as the day broke, and more light filtered into the house we saw the extent of the damage, and suddenly everything felt very heavy.

The kitchen ceiling was on the floor; the bathroom tiles had come down; the upstairs carpets were under completely sodden; the electric mains box was dripping water... it was difficult to know where to start.  We grabbed all the towels we had and starting numbly mopping up the water whilst we waited for the letting agency to send out a contractor to assess the damage.

 The damage to the kitchen. Pretty sure the ceiling

shouldn't be on the floor...

 More water damage

Bathroom tile damage. Clean-up: Where to start?

 We spent the next three weeks with no electric bar one room, with the loud, grating hum of an industrial dehumidifier gradually steering us to insanity.

Well, that was a riveting (and long) couple of months, but things are getting resolved now.  The house has dried, and the redecorating has started.  I’m gradually getting on top of things now (the house is still a state, but that more lack of housework than flood damage), and my sense of humour is creeping back. So hopefully blogging will return to a normal frequency soon (and cartoons will be making a comeback)!

What’s the worse indoor natural disaster you’ve experienced?  Have you ever lived somewhere that ended up biting you in the ass?