We had a small, but scary adventure last night, as if the last few weeks hadn’t been sufficiently adventurous for anybody.
We had just come in from work and were washing up and generally putting the night to rest, when all of the lights began to flash and flicker, and to make an odd buzzing noise.
We stared about us in surprise, and then realised, to our horror, that the light switch at the bottom of the stairs was pouring out wreaths of black smoke. Barely a second later, a little flame began to lick out from behind it.
We dived instantly. I rushed to the electric box to turn the power off, and Mark dashed over to the switch.
The flames and smoke subsided.
Mark turned off the light circuit and then switched the rest of the power back on. We could look at the barely-averted inferno then with a plug-in lamp.
I was instantly horrified, because it was the light switch that had been installed by me and Lucy, and the thought that I might have inadvertently converted our house into a lethal death chamber was absolutely horrifying.
Fortunately, on investigation this turned out not to be the case. The switch was perfectly sensibly and safely wired up, with all wires tidily clipped.
The problem, we quickly discovered, was that the switch was wet through. It appeared that water was running down through the top of the box and trickling down the wires, where of course it had caught fire.
The switch is installed on the newel post at the bottom of the stairs, which looks solid but isn’t. It is two posts glued together with the wires running down the centre. We know because we did it, when we bought the house many years ago, and knocked down the wall between the kitchen and the stairs.
The problem was that Oliver’s shower has sprung a leak.
We have known about this for ages. It has been dripping through the floor and on to the stairs. Mark has investigated several times, and replaced any dodgy-looking grout, but been unable to find the source.
The leak had become so bad that it had found its way into the post, and had slowly trickled downwards, igniting the light switch and almost causing us all a terrible electrical death, except that we noticed, so it didn’t.
Mark spent a very great deal of today bashing all the remaining grout out of the shower until in the end he discovered the source, which was at the point where the shower was screwed to the wall. The filler had come out of this and it was sucking water into itself to rinse down on to the stairs carpet, and ultimately, into the kitchen light switch.
He has installed a temporary switch and filled the hole, although he is going to have to spend most of tomorrow replacing the grout. Oliver can always use Lucy’s shower tonight.
Fortunately he had finished his shower by then anyway, and made his way to bed. He had been having a somewhat momentous day anyway, because of course in the middle of death and sadness, the world continues to turn. His A Level results arrived yesterday, and his passage into adult life is finally resolved.
He passed in all three subjects, a Distinction star in psychology, a B in business studies, and a C in drama. These grades have more than fulfilled his offer criteria from Norland, and this morning a very splendid envelope came from them containing a gleaming golden ticket, which was his formal acceptance.
This was splendidly exciting, and much of the day has hurtled past in a blur of Things To Be Arranged. There was his uniform to order and his medical form to complete, and his Disclosure form to be sent off along with all of his identification documents.
Norland has sent us his new address. He is going to be sharing a flat in St. James’ Square with three other students, two girls and a boy. We looked at St. James’ Square on a satellite picture, and it looks exactly as if he was suddenly about to step into a Jane Austen novel.
It is very exciting, and he is very excited. He has emailed his new flatmates, and in a very few weeks’ time he will be finding out if they wash up after themselves or leave the bathroom in a mess.
It is the first step on his new adventure.
