A COUPLE of weeks ago, at about half ten on a Sunday night, Carolyn and I were enjoying that rare quiet time between the boys’ bedtime and ours. But as we were watching TV, we heard an almighty crash from upstairs.

Churchill

"Can you cover damage to my ceiling, Churchill?" "Oh, yes! But I won't."

Immediately fearing the worst, I ran upstairs to check on the boys in their bedrooms; they were safe and sound asleep. It was Carolyn who first noticed the dust in the air as she stood on the landing outside my teenage son’s bedroom. We walked in to find a dreadful mess: a large portion of the plaster ceiling had caved in, throwing rubble and dust into every corner of the room. Something similarly violent had occurred years ago when a burst water pipe flooded our kitchen. At the time we were insured through a very professional company who sent out their assessor first thing the next day. He immediately organised everything so that the replacement of the kitchen, although distressing, was carried out as quickly and as professionally as possible, with very little hassle for us (other than having to do without a fully functioning kitchen over Christmas).

A few years later I made a mistake: I switched our home insurance to Churchill.

As soon as this latest disaster happened, I phoned their helpline, to be told that no-one there could help (it was a Sunday night, after all) but that someone would call the next day. Sure enough, at quarter to nine the next morning, I received a call from a very young girl whose script in front of her told me that I was not covered for the damage to the ceiling – even before I had the chance to explain that I didn’t know the cause of the damage.

Could she send out an assessor (as I assumed was the norm)? No, came the answer. Well, could I speak to her superior, then, to find out why not? After all, how could they decide if I was covered or not if they weren’t willing to look at the damage themselves? Eventually they reluctantly agreed to send out an assessor… nine days later! So, for more than a week, the bedroom lay untouched. Because I had made the grave mistake of moving my home insurance to an amateurish outfit like Churchill. What a shower!

Inevitably, of course, the assessor told me exactly what had been written down on the crib sheet that the young girl had read out when she first called me: that I am not covered for the damage. Something to do with the damage having been caused by water ingress over a period of time. That alone is reason for Churchill to refuse to cover the damage to the ceiling. Truly pathetic. And I am (was) paying a great deal of money to this second rate outfit for the privilege of… well, for the privilege of paying them money, apparently.

Remember that old advertising strapline for Direct Line Commercial Union? “We won’t make a drama out of a crisis”.

Churchill’s should be: “We’re not interested if you have a crisis or not, so long as you keep paying your premiums”. Which I won’t be.

ceiling

Churchill: "Not my problem gov..."