Tackling The Blaze

Major drama here this week...the house nearly blew up! There was a major leak in one of the flats downstairs, and all the water went rushing into the cellar. Right where the electrics are. Fortunately the cellar is big enough for the main meters to be located on the other side, but there are some loose wires hanging from the ceiling right where the torrent of water got in. I have no idea what they are connected to, but how they survived is a miracle.

We had to call the fire brigade out, because I (supposedly the man of the house!) did not even know where the stop-taps were. We couldn't get an emergency plumber or electrician, so as a last resort I phoned the fire service. And in they came in their alpha uniforms, delivering the goods in no time at all. Leak stopped, no fire, no crisis. Job's a good 'un.

That's what being a man is all about, isn't it? I should know, but I don't. All I could manage at the height of the crisis was to pace up and down, and generally do my utmost to convince the new tenants that, yes, that ginger bloke with the spazzy mannerisms really is crazy. Shameful. Absolutely shameful. I deserve to die for that, and if the truth be told I probably will.

Whilst I am in no doubt that what happened was an accident, it's fair to say that the new tenants have a habit of bringing trouble with them wherever they go. The boyfriend has served time and is a known thief and junkie, and the girlfriend...well quite frankly she acts, speaks and looks like a prostitute. That's not to say that she is, and it's not intended as a slur on prostitutes, but that is how she comes across. She shouts as only a drug-addled prostitute can shout, as though merely speaking would imply some level of intimacy. And when the boyfriend borrowed something from me the other night, he lowered his voice and said knowingly that if ever I needed anything then all I had to do was ask. I wondered what he meant by that, because he knows I'm on my own, he knows I don't do drugs, and he's sharp enough to recognise what's missing from my life right now. But I wouldn't, in case you're wondering. And now that she knows that I'm crazy, I'm pretty sure that neither would she.

The whole episode has left me feeling very isolated and very scared. I've had to put an SOS out to community mental health groups, because I have to get out of here and I'm not strong enough to do it on my own. I am quite literally grounded...I can't even get on public transport because the panic attacks are so bad, and I'm attacked by self-contradicting negative thoughts at breakneck speed. I'm simply not strong enough or calm enough to move by myself, so I've had to put out a call for volunteers to help me. (The friends I once had are long gone, after I and they recoginsed that I had nothing to bring to the table).

But I have to get out of here, and fast. The new neighbors are bad enough, and the idiot next door to me is getting worse by the day. He's slowly stewing in his own pigswill, and he listens to me all the time. He's complained to the landlord about me staying up at night and shutting doors, but guess why I shut the doors? It's bad enough living here as it is, but recent events have really put me on edge and it's fragmenting my mind even more. I'm sorry if there is a lot of anger and paranoia in this post that isn't particularly pleasant to read, but I had to vent it somehow and this is the safest way.

Now that I've finished this post, I'm about to start what I call Handyman 101. Basic domestic stuff that you need to know...how water systems work, how electric systems work, how to use tools that a trained fucking chimp could use. Do you think if I say Handyman 5 times I'll actually become one?