Locked Aloft

In 2012 I used my inheritance from Dad’s estate to have a loft extension built.    It seemed fitting that my share of the old family home should be used to extent and improve this family home. 

Drawing up the plans the architect said “You’re going to have to put in a dormer to get the height at the top of the stairs, so you may as well put in a big one and include an en-suite.” 

This has given Thunderthighs his own Penthouse bedsit, and for hours all we hear of him is occasional laughter, or swearing.

I was sitting in the office yesterday afternoon when I heard a bashing about and a “Mu-um” from the loft.

The door to the Penthouse has always been a little sticky, especially where it’s been cut to fit into the angle of the roof.  But this time it was stuck fast. 

I managed to get the sneck to shift back and, with my full weight pushing got the door open.  I promised Thunderthighs I would get Will Fixit to come and see to it and came back down with “and don’t let it shut again until it’s sorted.”

Half way through composing an email to Will there’s a crash and another

“Mu-um” from above. 
I didn’t quite believe it.

Yes the door was shut.

“I didn’t shut it.  It was the wind.”

To be fair he did have all the veluxes open because it was a warm day.

This time there was no way the sneck would move back however hard I twisted and pushed.  I was on the closed side and there was a door jamb in the way of sliding a blade in to push it back.

Thunderthighs was well and truly locked in.

Looking on the bright side he had access to his en-suite with loo and drinking water. If the worse came to the worse we could lob buns up through the veluxes, or slip cheese and ham slices under the door.  Besides which, we keep his bedlinen in a drawer under his bed so he could let down a pillowcase on a sheet-rope and haul up provisions.  No need to panic.

I went downstairs to fetch the screwdriver intending to take the outside handle and panel off then realised I had no idea what to do once I’d done that.

I phoned Will Fixit’s mobile.

“You’re in luck” he said “I’m just down the road at the Squireen’s doing her bathroom so once I’ve finished this bit I’ll come over.  It’ll just be a quarter of an hour.”

I told Thunderthighs Will would be with us in twenty minutes or so.

Half an hour later he’d taken the outside handle and panel off, had a fiddle around and got Thunderthighs to twist and pull from his side.

You know that Bernard Cribbins’ song “Right Said Fred”?

Will went back down to his van and returned with a hammer and chisel and jemmied off the door jamb; which allowed him to force back the sneck and get the door open.

Great relief all around.

Something small and vital inside the mechanism was broken in two.

“It’s survived 8 years” said Will “Not bad going in this house.”

He has removed the mechanism entirely, but put the handles back and Thunderthighs will have to make do with a large stone to keep the door shut until it’s fixed.

Fester and Ferretfingers had been on a trip to the City Farm buying vegetables during all this excitement and returned just as Will and I were discussing replacing the bathroom wash-hand-basin tap, and fixing the showerhead so it stays in one place instead of twisting to wash the window when it should be rinsing me.  He mentioned working on the Squireen’s house.

“That must be fun” said Fester ironically.

“Actually she’s really easy to work for" replied Will "She knows what she wants.  She tells you in plain language what it is.  If you ask her to make a decision about something she does.  And if she doesn’t like something she tells you right away.  There’s none of this leaving it to the end of a job and then saying ‘oh I don’t like that can you change it’ to which the reply is usually ‘No, it’s all stuck down now.’”

I agreed; I shared a flat with her for so many years her little brother wondered whether we were a Sapphic couple, and she is one of those people who you know where you stand with.

Will has promised to return tomorrow with a new mechanism and to plane the top of the door where it sticks.