One of the joys (not) of buying a house is dealing with all the utility companies allegedly competing for our business in the UK’s supposedly efficient free market system – one of these days I will be able to relate to you the full saga of our ‘related MPAN’ which apparently leaves us tied to one electricity company until I can get someone to take responsibility for sorting it out or hell freezes over, whichever is the soonest – and today it was the turn of the telephone engineer. We’d arranged that he’d meet us up at the new house some time between 1pm and 6pm and the other half was heading there but had various shopping errands to run first. So as I pedalled up the last hill to the house on my bike just a shade after 1 I was a bit worried to see a white van coming down again, thinking that the other half might have missed the engineer.
‘Are you coming from <ridiculously long name of new house>?’ I asked
‘Yeah, but there was nobody there. Couldn’t get in,’ said the stony faced engineer.
‘That’s our house,’ I said. ‘I can let you in just now.’
‘Too late now. You missed your slot,’ he said, even more stony faced.
I was just wondering how we could retrieve the situation when he suddenly cracked, burst out laughing and confessed he’d just been in the house, the phone line was working, he’d left the other half with some cable and extension boxes to play with and that I needed to get on with sanding the skirting boards and we should be painting the hall a nice bright lime green in his opinion.
If only the electricity meter situation can be as easily sorted, I will be a happy woman.
Oh and for those wondering what my new papershop run will look like, this should give you an idea. It’s a long way down…