A Roof Over My Head

A few things this week have brought home to me the extent of my new role as a householder in contrast to the previous one as a 'flat-dweller'.  Formerly, my responsibilities ended at the flat door.  There was no garden to look after; the grass surrounding the block was cut regularly, even the hall outside the door was cleaned weekly by contractors engaged by the management.  Now, my responsibilities extend to the pavement at the front, and to the gate at the end of the garden path ...  in fact, just beyond that, since I have to wheel my bin outside the gate for emptying once a week.

The fact that both are rented properties means that some things are, of course, common.  Maintenance is a prime example.  Last year, when new regulations were introduced concerning electrical fittings, compliance with these was all handled by the agent and all I had to do was admit the electrician on the appointed day.  When I moved in here, certain aspects of the house were obviously sub-optimal [I've been longing to use that word ever since I heard it ... now I have, and got it out of my system, I'll probably never think of it again!] and it took little persuasion for the agent to arrange for them to be fixed.

It's a personal trait that I hate asking people to do things for me.  Take, for example the door that would only shut if upward pressure were applied to the handle.  I had tried tightening the screws in the hinge, but this made little difference.  However, I discovered that one of the three screws didn't actually 'bite', so it was completely useless.  When I withdrew it, however, I realised that it was at an upward angle.  This week, it was the work of only a few minutes to bring a stool to the place, pilot a new hole at the opposite angle and fix a new screw in place.  The door now shuts perfectly. 

Asking other people, though, has become easier, especially when it's for something that is obviously beyond my ability.  Soon after I arrived here, I went upstairs one rainy afternoon and discovered water running down the landing wall.  An instant call to the agent brought forth a roofing contractor to assess the problem.  A few days later he returned with ladders and a colleague and they made some repairs.

The other week, however, after a spell of particularly heavy and persistent rain, I noticed the same phenomenon.  Once more, the roofers came, and examined the problem, not only from the outside, but also, by peering into the loft, they were able to see daylight where rainwater was able to get in.  It was decided that, given the amount of repairs that could be seen up there already, a more serious attack was called for and, as I write this today, scaffolding has appeared outside the door in readiness for this work to be carried out.

In the overall scale of things, these practical matters are relatively minor and, however inconvenient, can fairly easily be put right.  I was listening to a radio programme the other day which told of a businessman who had taken action to help some refugees in his town.  He had obtained a large warehouse in which he had erected some glamping units producing, in effect, the temporary equivalent of a block of flats, into which 24 refugee families were now able to establish themselves, each in their own separate household and, as he emphasised, with their own front door.

Many have agonised over the plight of refugees, and we've been glad that, as a nation, we have accommodated some - albeit pitifully few - of these unfortunates in our communities, but it doesn't end there.  What this man had realised - and I suspect few others had done so - was that many refugees are caught in a vicious economic circle.  Upon arrival, they have been provided with temporary accommodation but are unable to progress beyond this stage.  Many want to, and are able to work to support their families, but can't get work because when a potential employer sees their address and realises their situation he is unwilling to take them on.  Without work and the income that it brings, they are unable to move out and find that permanent address that would make getting work easier.

What is important, as this businessman pointed out, is having their own front door, having an address that is unique to them and gives a potential employer confidence to give them work.  It also enhances their self-esteem, taking them beyond the feeling of a piece of property that has grudgingly been given storage space.

I have no idea of your circumstances, dear reader.  Maybe like me, you are limited in resources and abilities, but maybe you are able to go beyond mere sympathy.  Is there something that you could do to help restore the self esteem of someone who, like me, is reluctant to ask for favours?