Bad night. Nightmare left me too scared to go back to sleep, or whatever passes for sleep in these parts.
Landlords wanting major works done to flat, roof properly insulated, central heating put in…a new front door that doesn’t warp and admit the rain would also be appreciated.
I live in fear of these times. They get their relatives in to do a cack handed job and they have to keep returning to correct the errors they’ve made. Our roof still leaks after three attempts to fix it.
Unsurprisingly the flat failed the minimum EPC rating. An old barn, worn out and dilapidated, showing its age. A bit like it’s occupants.
Our millionaire landlords baulking at the cost of work done as though they can’t afford it galls me beyond measure. They own half the town and this flat we …exist in…is one of four or five properties they own. I often wonder about the upkeep of the others.
Our neighbours not happy. His flat passed its EPC assessment. Even the landlord expressed amazement, with a wry chuckle at getting out of any unnecessary expenditure downstairs.
Work means upheaval, disruption, abandonment of routine. Noise, chaos and people traipsing in and out. It also means moving everything out of the crowded roof space…when it’s up there for the sole reason that we have no space in which to put it!. My fibromyalgia wracked body already protests at the forthcoming misery.
On the road to nowhere. Torn between here and there. Waiting on others (and a rent increase) and not knowing what to do for the best. Stay?. Go?. Always agonising over a dream so elusive and a reality so painful.
On the road to nowhere.
It seems I’ve walked this way before.