When it's a jar

Some of you might be aware of the ongoing problems we've been having with our landlord / letting agencies (yes, plural). I've been keeping quiet about it on here because, honestly, the thought of writing down everything that's gone wrong is so bone-deep tiring that I'd sooner walk into traffic than lay it all out for you.

But, as a microcosm, as a focal point for all that negativity, how about we talk about the living room door?

• When we moved in, there was a cream-painted door with a blurry window in it. The handle was slightly shonky, but it was otherwise fine.
• When we got the lady from the council round to make a bullet-point list of things that needed to be fixed, the door made it onto that list. It's not a fire door, you see, and because our living room is open onto our kitchen, it needs to be a fire door.
• So they replaced the cream door with a plank of featureless wood.
• It's gradually becoming a fire door, so we're assured, but right now it presents more of a fire hazard. It's not sealed around the edges, so it's not fulfilling that function anyway.
• They eventually added a handle - the same cream-painted shonky handle from the old door. Looks out of place on the unpainted wood, but whatever, a handle is a handle.
• Then they added a closer, so the door closes itself, and requires a bit more muscle to open. Also fine.
• Well, today the handle fell off.

I have blocked the door open with a beanbag because if it closes now, we won't be able to open it.
Because it has a closer.
And no handle.
And still isn't a fire door.

My housemates are all pretty fed up of this place, so in an attempt to soften the blow, when I texted them warning not to move the beanbag, I ended it with *sad trombone*... but I don't think it helped.