I’ve always believed there’s a quiet serenity to a Saturday morning that should be protected, especially when you’ve consciously cleared your schedule. No lectures, no alarms, and for once no early-morning training. Just blissful ignorance of the chaos unfolding outside the door. That peace was shattered at exactly 7:09 AM by unceasing intercom calls and violent thudding on my front door, truly reminiscent of a low-budget Hollywood SWAT raid. I didn’t know it yet, but overnight I had transformed into the undisputed villain of the entire apartment block.
As it turned out, the ‘minor leak’ I reported to my landlord two weeks earlier, which was regarded as “not necessarily a problem”, was in fact an emergency! It had successfully travelled from my bathroom in Flat 5 all the way down to Flat 1. By the time I was dragged into reality, the ceilings below me hadn’t just started to drip; they had become concave, surrendering to the water’s wrath. To make matters worse, the flat directly below even had its electrical mains compromised.
Panicking, I called my landlord, hoping for a knight in shining armour. Instead, I got a man distracted by his boarding pass. Under the pressure of airport announcements, I was told to “hurry it up”, hand out his contact information, and turn the water off. I called again that evening after confronting the reality of life without running water, just to be met with “it’s only six days, just deal with it.” As if I were the one being unreasonable for wanting a functioning toilet!
So, there I was, stranded in an uninhabitable apartment, realising that adulthood wasn’t just about paying bills. It also included surviving a landlord who viewed my human rights and safety as a nuisance to his vacation itinerary. All while he was likely ordering a celebratory drink in the Magic Kingdom.
We tend to idealise a ‘minimalistic’ life, but it’s hard to grasp how much of our dignity and self-respect is tied to a functioning S-bend. When you can’t wash your hands or flush a toilet, the aesthetic wears thin. In my state of primitive shock, concentrating on university work was a lost cause. It turns out that writing a dissertation is incredibly difficult when you’re haunted by the image of your home being engulfed in flames while you sleep. My house was no longer a haven, but a theatre of logistical hurdles I was desperate to escape. Checking into a hotel wasn’t some act of self-indulgence; it was a necessary rescue mission.
I sat in that hotel room, questioning whether I was just another unlucky student. But having relaxed from a euphoric hot shower, I was left with a cold awareness that being a student isn’t a legal loophole that landlords can exploit and sucking it up isn’t a valid repair strategy. I had rights that took precedence over his Mickey Mouse meet and greet.
The law is quite clear, even if landlords like mine pretend it’s written in invisible ink. Under Section 11 of the Landlord and Tenant Act 1985, the landlord is required to keep the supply of water, gas, electricity, and sanitation in repair. The Homes (Fitness for Human Habitation) Act 2018 further requires that a property must be safe. So, repairs aren’t a ‘favour’ they do for us, and a flat with no water is legally “unfit for human habitation”.
If you find yourself in a similar theatre of absurdity, there is plenty of support at your disposal:
- On-Campus Support: Advice Centre at the Students’ Union (SU)
- Expert Advice: Shelter or Citizens Advice
- “The Big Guns”: your local council’s Environmental Health department, who have the power to issue improvement notices
Moving away from home was supposed to be the ultimate freedom package, a one-way ticket to eating cereal for dinner without being judged. But this week has been a brutal reminder that independence comes with the burden of being your own advocate.
Luckily, I have water again now, but the fight for my rights is just beginning. My landlord recently returned with a fresh tan, though it seems he left his sense of responsibility at the bottom of Splash Mountain. While he is currently refusing to compensate for any expenses, I suppose I can take some comfort in at least being able to wash my hands.
That being said, if anyone knows of an available flat that isn’t a relic of the pre-plumbing era or that resembles the Sahara Desert, please do let me know.
Another article you may enjoy – https://thebadgeronline.com/2026/03/people-pink-beanies-and-penge/
