The Flood

I woke at 6.30 to the sound of dripping water. It was landing on the closed toilet seat lid in he main toilet. I opened the lid for the water to fall into. The floor was flooded, including Jass' litter tray. In my brunch coat without a skerrick of lippy, I knocked on the door of the apartment above, but without a response. I went down to ground level and called them on the intercom. After the third call, someone responded and let me in up to his floor, who walked from his bedroom across squelching wet carpet to answer. Then another lad appeared, and then a third, the last being bare topped but that did not distract me. I forget the exchange but he asked if I could help. In the service room in the stairwell, I showed him how to shut off the water. 

I knew exactly the problem. A flexible hose had burst and given it was hot water, it was under the basin of bathroom. A few decades ago, as a cost saving measure, a man, and I know it must have been a man, decided flexible pipes connecting to fixed copper pipes was a good idea, and they have been very widely used. But they have a shelf life of a very cautious five years to ten years or even fifteen years. I expect the hoses were original, so they have done well, lasting for 27 years.

I had hoped the water was just localised and once it stopped dripping into the toilet, all would be well Then I noticed some water running down the wall of my ensuite, then some drips on the cornice in the kitchen. Oh dear, the kitchen floor was wet.

I attempted to call the building manager several times but I didn't think he started until 9.30. He eventually called back, explaining and apologising that he was late as he wasn't well. 

Then things began happening, and the next two hours were a whirl of people, phone calls, text messages, emails, and a building flood specialist visited, needing authorisation to to begin work for me. Being Saturday, many people weren't working but did help out this damsel in distress in an emergency situation.

At some point Phyllis arose and remarked that he had heard dripping when he was half awake but saw his window was wet and assumed it was rain. He stepped out of bed later onto wet carpet. There is wet carpet in the spare room too.

I can't remember what I was going to do on Saturday, but whatever, it didn't happen. By 2 o'clock there were two industrial sized dehumidifiers blasting away, along with four industrial sized air circulating fans, with three more to be added this morning. These will be blasting away for seven days. Imagine the noisiest range hood fan multiplied by seven running non stop in your home for seven days. We can turn them off at night, but they are fine running in the living area, just not in the bedrooms at night. 

As I understand, correctly the Owners' Corporation, informally the Body Corp's insurance will pay for the drying out and repainting where necessary. I am assured as a side benefit is the carpets will dry out too, but if not, it is classed as home contents, not a building issue, so it is down to my home contents insurance, which I nearly didn't pay last year as we've never made a claim, but I am glad I did pay it (I had to check to make sure I had), being a back up for the carpet. 

So to put it concisely, life is shit and will be for the next week, and perhaps longer. Sunday I took a long train ride to Upper Combuctor West, just to get away from home and the noise. I did stop off for a bite to eat and coffee at Footscray, and for the first time as I sipped my coffee, I felt uncomfortable there, with many people around with mental health issues and some distant shouty person.  

Yesterday would have been Ray's 77th birthday. We always faced crises together. Now it is all down to me. Mind, Phyllis and Kosov have been understanding, and cleaned up a heap of wet cat litter that Jass had flung about, but they are barely more than kids.

Rationalise Andrew. I am not a victim of Cyclone Narelle. I am not getting bombed. There isn't a threat to my existence, so there, I feel better now. No, I don't.