Let There Be Light

How many conservation charity employees does it take to change a lightbulb?

Six.

Well, it did today anyway. Kind of. The lighting system in the Great Hall is an example of staggeringly bad design. There are four halogen spotlights, hiden way up high in the ceiling rafters. When a bulb blows we have to wait for a passing builder with a long ladder to check it out for us, as our stepladders don't come close to reaching the lights.

Two of the four bulbs have been out since October. The passing builder who bravely ascended his super-long ladder on our behalf reported that the bulb was fine, it was the light fitting itself which was broken. Naturally, I flagged this up to the Buildings Department immediately. Just as naturally, the required electricians, and their hired tower scaffold, only arrived today, two days before we open.

Turns out both lights are beyond hope of repair. Hooray! Now begins my campaign for replacement, accessible lighting!

Hard Hat Area

This "cut out and keep" style piece of engineering is an impromptu piece of protective work fashioned this afternoon after the drama of part of the ceiling coming down.

This is my office ceiling, and the central beam is encased in old plaster. For many months now I have been aware of a big crack, ever widening, in this plaster.

I showed it to the Area Buildings Surveyor. He stood on the desk and poked at it with his car keys. "Oh, yes, it's very dry and powdery in there. I'll get someone to look at it".

Days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months. Another Buildings Department person passed my way. "Come and look at this!" I implored. "I'm sure it's not safe".

Everyone I showed it to agreed it did not look safe. Most alarming, they concurred, especially given it's in my office, directly above where the volunteers sit to have their tea. Yet, bafflingly, at odds with the universally accepted truth that the alarmingly cracked beam was an accident in waiting, no builder appeared to repair or even shore it up.

Today the plaster came down at last, having, like me, given up waiting for a repairman. It lost the will to hang on and descended in a cloud of dust, plaster and bits of wood.

"Get out of there," yelled McColleague from the safety of Beyond the Door. "You mustn't breathe that stuff in. You might get anthrax!"

I thought she was joking. We went to the warden's shed to borrow some protective face masks. "Ah, in case of anthrax spores," nodded the Head Warden, sagely.

What? Anthrax? What? I was agog and aghast and immediately felt a bit chesty. But it's all true, old plaster can contain horsehair and, possibly, anthrax spores.

Oh well. We have hoovered it all up now and covered the hole with tyvek and tape to prevent more dust sifting down into the coffee and walnut cake. I am doing my bit to ward off anthrax with the liberal application of alcohol. Can't hurt, anyway. Cough.

Oh Happy Day

It is 8.50am when I look out of the window and see a white van approaching. Not just any white van, either. No, this one has what looks to me to be a very long ladder attached to its roof rack.

With a little whoop of joy I race downstairs and get to the door a nanosecond after the doorbell rings. "Hello," smiles the nice young chap at my door, "I've come to fix your guttering."

We walk round to the side of the house, so I can point at the leaky bit. He unshoulders the ladder, extends and places it against the wall. "Do you need me to the foot the ladder?" I ask, aware he is on his own and very high up. He declines my kind offer. I decide to give him some advice, in order to fulfil my health and safety obligations. "If you do fall, try to roll with it." (This is a variation on my other health and safety briefing, "careful now!")

The job is completed impressively quickly and water now flows through the gutter rather than through my wall. The CDs can move back to their rightful place. Now, how long will it take to get the big damp stain painted over, I wonder?

She Who Waits

I am waiting for the man to come with his long ladder and fix my guttering.

I discovered, while doing the ironing the other day, that water sheets down the corner of my living room, straight into my CD collection, whenever it rains heavily. The water is also slightly foamy, like bubble bath, which I can only assume is something to do with it coming through the timbers. Maybe some chemical thing is happening. Maybe it is ectoplasm and the house is haunted, after all.

I went upstairs and leaned out of the bedroom window to try to discover the source of the problem, but couldn't get close enough to the gutter to work out if it is blocked or corroded. All I could see was a lot of water apparently coming out of the bottom of it and cascading majestically down the side of the house. And the back of my neck. I ducked back inside and closed the window. It was late in the afternoon at the weekend so I sent up my distress flare (a short "help me!" email to Those Who Can Fix Things) and waited.

Yesterday I had two messages - count them, two! - informing me the man with the long ladder would be here some time today.

I waited all day for the man with the long ladder. I even left a useful note on the door just in case he came while I was in the shower this morning. It's dark now. I don't think he's coming. I'm going to move my CDs and hope for dry weather.