Last Monday parents left me dozy but content in a brightly lit, fully functional flat. As soon as I woke up from my nap mains power had gone kaput. Of course, I did the sensible thing and surfed the internet – new laptop has quite deliciously hueg battery life, and lights and internet were both functional. Just not mains sockets.
No, it wasn’t Moose.
Called the maintenance number listed on the university site. It rung off instantly.
Called the Shackleton reception. Went “beeeeeeeee” a bit and rung off too.
Checked phone was functional. Repeated. Swore.
Called Siz. For the first time ever, she didn’t have an instant and wonderful solution. I KNOW, I FELT BETRAYED TOO.
Called Security, rather apologetically, who then put me through to Shac, who then put me through to maintenance. (Turns out the extension for Maintenance is 4040. Appropriate.) Half an hour later a friendly and extremely competent maintenance bloke rolled up, took a gander at whatever had gone wrong and fixed it in short order. While he was there I mentioned that the flat had a mould problem and that Jess and I had been bitching about to his colleagues for six months now; he took a look at it, rang through to his maintenance mates and did whatever the olden-timey version of opening a support ticket is, and gave me his word it’d be fixed in a week. I thanked him and he went on his way.
The next day another friendly and extremely competent maintenance bloke in overalls rolled up and took a good long hard look at the mould; I told him there was some in Jess’s room. He took a look (skeleton key – Jess still isn’t back yet :c) and said it didn’t look bad; I said yes, she’d cleaned the worst of it off, and I hadn’t so that I wouldn’t have someone look at it and go “nah ‘s nothing.” He conceded the point, wrote things down and also left. An hour later a third friendly and extremely competent maintenance bloke in a stripy shirt rolled up, cleaned the mould off with one flavour of acrid-smelling chemical, sealed the wall with another, salted the earth and raised a mouse-skull standard to the desert gods. The last two are not true.
Done all my essays, which is a huge load off my mind. Practising History I think went rather well; Analysing Everyday Texts much less so, but that’s less bad time management and more completely incomprehensible texts. Fortunately, AET counts for next to nothing and I don’t have to do it next year! \o/ I liked the tutor, but that module was a mistake.
Upon arriving back in Bromingham, the things I ordered online for myself were:
– Prebble’s “Culloden”
– Copy paper
– Generation Kill on DVD
– Best of Signal
– New electric toothbrush
On all of these but the toothbrush, the shipping was free. On the brush, it was £8. All but one of these items came within three days, except one which still hasn’t been delivered.
I don’t really need to say which one it is, do I?
total expenses for last week:
£26 food shopping
£5 Best of Signal
we do what we can, until we cannot