Some years ago I worked for Huntingdonshire D.C. and we had received several complaints about a noisy dog. One day the owner of the dog marched into the offices with a portable tape recorder. "I want you to listen to this" he said. He turned the machine on and I waited, and waited and nothing came out. "What is it?" I enquired - his response was priceless "It's a tape of my dog not barking".

 The new housing manager was sitting in the housing office when he heard a commotion at the front desk. "I am fed up paying my rent regularly and complaining about the people upstairs making a noise and making my life a misery". The tenant left slamming the door. "What are we doing to help that client?" asked the new manager.  "Nothing", replied the housing officer; "he does the same every week". "Why not"? "He lives in a bungalow"!!

 

A fortnight later the tenant came in, paid his rent and asked the housing officer to thank the new housing manager for finally shorting out his housing problem. Mystified the housing officer enquired what the housing manager had actually done.  The housing manager explained that he was driving past the bungalow and decided to visit the tenant, he knocked on the door and the tenant demanded to know why he was there. "I am the new housing manager and I have come to try and sort out the neighbours that live upstairs". "Blimey, at last, please come in". The housing manager went in and listened for the noise, of course there was silence. "Can you hear that", said the tenant? "Have you got a broom?" asked the housing manager. The manager then began to bang on the ceiling with the broom proclaiming that if the noise did not stop, he, the housing manager, would ensure that eviction action would be taken against the perpetrators. Handing the broom back to the tenant, the housing manager said "I think that should sort out your problem!!"

 

 

As a young Housing Officer, I received a complaint from a tenant that she kept hearing loud animal noises coming from the council house next door. When I visited the property I was amazed to find a fully grown bull in the back garden. What made it even more puzzling was that there was no rear access to the back garden. The tenant explained to me that he had got the bull when it was just a calf and brought it through the house into the back garden. The idea was that it would be a pet for the kids until it was ready to go to market. When I asked how he intended to get it out of the back garden, he suddenly went quiet! We ended up having to have the animal sedated and hoisted over the house with a crane.

At the funeral of Roger Phillips ( ex Greenwich, Barking and dagenham, and Medway), moving tributes were given by his daughters Helen and Lucy. Leon Yohai, his best friend also spoke. Leon was able to recall some stories that portrayed the Roger all those attending could identify with. One of the stories was; Roger was a six foot plus, 16 stone plus frame, but a very gentle man and a worrier. He was appointed to a new office as the area manager and very quickly the staff gave him a nickname  - the BFG - the big friendly giant.  He got wind of the nickname and  asked his deputy what he was being called.

"The BFG", was the reply, "the big friendly giant"

 

"Oh that's alright" said a relieved Roger, " I thought it stood for Big Fat Git!"

 

 

When I was a young and naive female housing management officer, I worked for a council that frequently used 'protected intending occupier' legislation to evict squatters without the need to have a court bailiff present.  Back in those days we had never heard of risk assessments and always did lone working.  So I made an appointment to meet a carpenter at a house to evict a group of squatters in order that the new tenants could move in that evening. Having the mindset that no one would argue with a housing officer, I made the arrangements for a Friday afternoon, when the squatters were slightly the worse the wear for a lunchtime in the pub.  They didn't like being told to leave and pushed me backwards into the hedge, at which point the carpenter said, "I'm not paid danger money", leapt into his van and drove off leaving me to pick privet leaf out of my hair! It all got sorted out once the police arrived and I learnt many valuable lessons that helped me in my housing career - anticipation, planning, preparation, contingency planning, and, most crucially - delegation!

 

The Greater London Council Seaside and Country dwelling waiting list awarded points to those tenants with the longest tenancies. One morning a gentleman who was not only elderly but also extremely hard of hearing, telephoned.  He enquired why his brother had been rehoused yet he was still on the waiting list even though they had both applied at the same time. I went to great pains to explain about the length of tenancy but because he was deaf, I was forced to repeat the information speaking louder each time.  By now people in other sections in our large open plan office were beginning to stand up and peer over their screens.   After the 4^th repetition Mr X still hadn't grasped the significance of length of tenancy so, in frustration, I shouted "well your brother obviously had a longer one than you".  For a few seconds the normal buzz in the office ceased only to be swiftly replaced by cheers, whistling and loud clapping.