Around Christmas a panel of our green 8-foot-tall fence blew over. We’d call it a privacy fence in America. It’s just a garden wall here in England. The apple tree (shrub?) caught it. I called the letting agent to report it, whereupon they scoffed at the idea that someone would be able to do anything about it before the new year.
The panel banged between the shrubby tree and our neighbor’s trampoline through many more nights of ridiculous winds. Just after the new year I heard our neighbor slip a handwritten note through the mail slot in our door. They were contacting someone to repair the fence, the note said. So I told the letting agency, which reported back that the landlord wanted to split the cost of the repair. I gave the details to the neighbor, written, through their mail slot during the day.
Halfway through March I received a typed note through the mail slot. The note requested I reply through another note.
So. There was an enormous gaping hole in our fence for nearly 4 months, and we have yet to see our neighbors. I suspect this is all very English.