The call started the way they all do: "There's water coming through the ceiling and I don't know where from." Dana, SE1, 02:01, kitchen light fitting doing an impression of a shower head.
Night dispatch answered on the second ring and did the thing that saves more homes than any van: talked Dana to the stopcock, under the kitchen sink, painted shut since roughly the Blair years. It gave enough to slow the flow. By 02:04 the flood was a drip, the electrics for that circuit were off at the board, and Crew 3 — four minutes into a sandwich two miles away — had the ticket.
02:37 — on site
Shoe covers went on in a flooded kitchen, which Dana has since mentioned in a review, a group chat, and possibly a wedding speech. The culprit: a fifty-year-old compression joint on the rising main, upstairs, which had chosen its moment with the theatrical timing these joints always have. Price for the permanent repair quoted at 02:50 — £412, fixed — and accepted before the toolbox opened.
03:55 — watertight
New joint, new isolation valve (so the next emergency is a twist of the wrist, not a 2 a.m. phone call), pipework clipped properly instead of resting on a nail like it had been since 1974. Wet ceiling photographed and moisture-read for the insurance file; a dehumidifier left on loan, collected Thursday.
Invoice emailed at 04:02 for exactly £412. The board marked the ticket FIXED at 04:03, and Crew 3 went back to the sandwich. It had, reportedly, held up better than the compression joint.