Some weeks, it seems nothing goes right. The stars are crossed and, until the planets move on, you are screwed.

We just had a week like that on the home front — and I am not sure it is over yet.

Our adventure started Wednesday night. I had spent the evening transporting Kate and her field hockey equipment (she is a goalie). We got home about 10, Kate took the dogs out for a walk and I went upstairs to get ready for bed. And I was just about there when the fire alarm in the basement sounded.

Now, our basement is a bit of a sore point. My husband likes to be ready for anything — sort of like a Boy Scout. So, whenever something breaks or has outlived its usefulness, instead of throwing it out, we take it to the basement.

“I might need it for a picture some time,” he says. So, maybe it has something to do with him being a photographer. Whatever the reason, he likes to be prepared.

Over the past 30 years, the basement has filled up. Useful things have gone to the basement for storage and never been seen again. As a result, some time ago, I washed my hands of the basement. I simply don’t go there. It is “Norm’s basement.”

So, it is 10:30 at night and the fire alarm in the basement is screaming, which has never happened before. I am home alone. (Did I mention Norm was in Haileybury, Ont., taking photos of a diamond-drilling operation?) This means I have to go into the basement.

Of course, I approach this very calmly. I call Norm on his cell and ask his advice about getting the *!#%*! alarm to stop. Fortunately, I can do this from the basement stairs; I don’t need to descend too far into the basement. If I had, I surely would have noticed the water edging its way toward the basement stairs. As it was, it wasn’t until the alarm stopped, and I heard the sound of rushing water, that the enormity of the situation hit me: I was going to have to go deep into the basement and investigate the source of the water.

Fortunately, I still had Norm on the phone.

The upshot of all this: around midnight, the city came and shut our water off. And early the next day, I set about finding a plumber.

The city has been replacing the water mains on our street and on Wednesday the guys in hard hats connected their new pipe to our old lead pipe. It seems it was too much for our pipe; it crumbled. Now I needed someone to replace the few feet of pipe that goes from the city pipe into the corner of our basement so we could have water again.

I called the general contractor who over the years has done various projects on our house. Indeed, one of his project managers had a plumber that would be at our house within the hour to access the damage. And Norm called to say he would finish his next assignment in Rouyn-Noranda, Que., that afternoon and head for home.

Good! Reinforcements.

Unfortunately, it didn’t work out quite as expected. The plumber — or someone who knew a plumber — came to look at the pipe. Sure enough, it was a pipe. He would discuss the course of action with the project manager, and the contractor would get back to me later that afternoon.

No one got back to me. About 5 p.m., I started leaving frantic messages everywhere. We went to bed Thursday night with no return call, no plan of action and still no water.

Norm, however, did make it home. Friday morning, when he was chatting with the guys in hard hats, they agreed to fix our pipe later that afternoon. They did a great job, but we were both disappointed in the response of our contractor. All we needed was a phone call.

As advisors, I am sure you recognize the importance of that call. Even if it was just to say, “I am still firming up details; I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” He lost the job, admittedly a small job, but he may also have lost a customer.

Tessa Wilmott, Editor-in-chief