Plumbing the depths
My landlord is kicking himself. This flat sat empty for six months, during which time he could have spotted the leak in the airing cupboard and arranged to have it fixed without disruption or disturbance to a soul, let alone to his keen new tenant - me. But be fair - with nobody living in the place, how do you spot an underfloor leak?
The tank is leaking near its base, behind the lagging, and the resultant drip is quietly pooling in the bathroom and hall floors; soaking gently into flooring, boards and, for all I know, the little pixies that live under vinyl everywhere. Until the walk to the loo becamee strangely corrugated as the sodden areas of floor sagged under the unaccustomed onslaught of a (perfectly normal, I assure you) lavatorial schedule, there really weren’t too many clues. Even after I moved in, I initially dismissed the air of mustiness in the bathroom with a careless “well, the flat was empty for six months”, not realising the odour emanated from underfoot.
So now the problem has been fully diagnosed, and the solution decided upon. Several false starts and phoney arrangements, while A waited on B who was waiting on A, have been set aside, and all kicks off tomorrow afternoon. The floor comes up and is replaced, the tank comes out and is likewise - this time with a spiffy pressured high-tech number that does away with the need for header tanks I’m told - and, by knocking-off time the following day all will be peace and tranquility. Dry peace and tranquility, specifically.
Admittedly, a night of no hot water will be a bore, but thanks to an electric shower not a disaster. And if it’s really done in two days, only a week or so after first reporting it, this will compare pretty well with the year and a half to replace a light switch that my previous landlord took. Fingers crossed!
