How do we solve a problem like steep stairs? (From Kidderminster Shuttle)

How do we solve a problem like steep stairs?

12:46am Tuesday 9th February 2010

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I am aware of, and occasionally fleetingly ashamed of, the shortcomings of my cosy and welcoming little house on the outskirts of Kidderminster.

It’s old for one thing. It was built in 1840 or 1850, which means we can’t get it insured through one of those “price comparison” websites.

This also means it’s got patches of damp in odd places, dodgy plasterwork wherever I want a picture or curtain rail hung, and a cellar which acts like a giant icebox, casting a freezing cold pallor over the entire house no matter how high the heating or how uproarious the open fires.

It also possesses a lovely black range, set in redbrick, exactly like the ones they have in those Victoriana styled houses at the Black Country Museum, only ours doesn’t give off a red glow while a pan of stew gently bubbles. The chimney is blocked up and the oven bit acts as a hidey hole for my youngest’s stolen hoard. It’s always the first place I look for missing credit cards, dvds and jam sandwiches, all gently slotted through a tiny envelope sized gap which means they are scratched to pieces or squished beyond recognition. I thought the jam sandwich was a dead mouse.

We’ve also got original pine floorboards. I’m very proud of them. People often remark on how old they look and ask us if we’ve ever considered sanding them down. We have, and we’re not going to; we don’t mind the many bumps, holes and irregularities, they add character.

Our home is what an estate agent might call a DIY-er’s dream, ripe for updating.

Sadly neither my husband or I are DIY-ers. Our house is to work from, rest in and play in and we have no desire to give up precious holiday time and weekends learning new skills. When we can afford it we pay people, when we can’t we get my dad in to “supervise/help” hubby (which means hubby holds ladders, passes nails, fetches cups of tea).

But there’s one aspect of the house we’d love to sort – our special booby-trapped stairs. According to my dad (who’s a retired builder and therefore knows his onions when it comes to building regs and the like) the stairs “wouldn’t be allowed nowadays”. They are pretty steep. And with narrow steps. And high backs. And they lead directly to the front door, so if you do take a tumble it could spell disaster.

As a result, I have a mantra which I repeat often, usually at least five times a day. “Please be careful coming down the stairs.” My kids will grow up with a stair phobia. If any of their friends come to visit they are warned in no uncertain terms that the stairs are a deathtrap and the only way they will be allowed icecream/chocolate/haribos is if they come down them on their bottom.

This was fine when all the visitors were little. My eldest niece is now 17 and I still won’t let her walk down them for fear of suffering a devastating head injury, although she now demands beer instead of chocky buttons for indulging my fear.

Worse, though, is when adult visitors come. They not only get the “be careful on the stairs” warning, delivered in a school-prefect bossy voice, but this is followed up by a detailed explanation about how difficult they are to come down for people with big feet because of the narrowness of the step and the height of each stair, which means it is likely that only a tiny part of their heel will actually come into contact with each step.

You’d think, then, that we would have a spotless accident record in my house, particularly when it comes to stair-related incidents. How wrong you would be.

First was hubby. Now I have no sympathy – he was well aware of the angle of the stairs, but was attempting, in the early hours, to tiptoe quietly down, in that exaggerated comedy way, when he came a cropper, bumping his way practically from top to bottom.

Second was my friend Elizabeth. She’d had two warnings, but clearly insufficient to stop her slip-sliding from about halfway down. She had a bruised hip but oh, how we still laugh about it now.

Third was the midwife who came to see me a few days after our second son was born. Again, I’d issued my dire warnings (and thus, I believe, covered myself in the event of an insurance claim?) but that failed to prevent her bump-bump-bumping down at least five stairs and landing in an ungainly heap at the bottom. I was confined to bed with a suckling infant, so could do little to aid her but she assured me, between sobs, she was fine.

Fourth in the catalogue of stairs woe was just three weeks ago. A burly man had come to fix our computer, needed to visit the loo before heading home – and on his way back down, whoops... I still haven’t managed to clean off the two foot long skid mark left on the wall by his flailing arm as he grappled for purchase on the banister.

I am thinking of getting an automated voice alarm at the top of the stairs, which guides people on correct stair-descending procedure. My arthritic dad has the right idea, he will only come down them backwards. Or perhaps we could install a pulley and slide system?

Hubby suggests just shutting up, convinced that my warnings are causing all these mishaps as people tense up unnecessarily instead of descending naturally. He might have a point but I can’t bear now not to speak up. I guess I figure that if someone has a bad fall without me having warned them in advance it will somehow be my fault (whereas if I have said something then it’s their own stupidity that’s to blame and my conscience will be clear).

Perhaps there’s an accident prevention grant we could apply for, citing the above as evidence of the hazard? We have looked into replacing and reducing the angle of the stairs, but there is genuinely no room to do so at the top or bottom, without introducing a “turn” through a wall into one of the two small front rooms. If any architects, surveyors, builders, etc want to come and help us devise a workable (and cheap) solution, you are welcome, but it’s left us stumped.

My big quandary now is what to do when we come to sell. Do I instantly put off potential buyers by issuing my usual dire warning about the stairway when they venture up them? Or do I hope that, like I obviously did, they fail to appreciate quite how steep the stairs are and leave them to pootle about unhindered and unwarned?

Regular visitors find it hilarious that I’m still stressing about the stairs, eight years after moving in. They tell me they are "normal" for the age of property, and that they just look worse to me. But I can't stop fretting about them. Perhaps we’ll just have to install a lift instead.

LISTEN TO THIS...I’ve been unable to stop listening to an old favourite this week - Ocean Rain by Echo & The Bunnymen, still sounding as wonderful as it did when I was a student in Liverpool 20-odd years ago. Check it out free on Spotify at www.spotify.com

WATCH THIS...If you’ve not already seen it, join the millions marvelling at the wonderfully upbeat musical comedy Glee. Great family entertainment, fun soundtrack, what’s not to like?

READ IT AND WEEP...the heart-rending story of the tragic life and death of 3 year old Tiffany, starved and neglected to death in a tiny room above a busy city centre pub. Be warned, this article will make you very angry and desperately sad, for a life barely lived.

http://www.guardian.co.uk/society/2010/feb/06/child-neglect-adrian-levy-cathy-scott-clark

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