A pipe dream

I got home from work yesterday to find the downstairs neighbour leaving a note on my door: I'd been down to his flat earlier in the week when he mentioned there was a problem with water leaking through his ceiling (right when my washing machine is) and now a blister had developped in the plasterboard. On the recommendation of the city council, he'd punctured it, but clearly something would need to be done sooner rather than later.

As I didn't really want to call a plumber out at that hour - the problem had been contained, after all - I spent the evening looking into the problem myself. As my friends and family will confirm, I'm no great handyman, so this was, at best, an attempt to get behind the washing machine; an impossible task alone, what with its feet catching on the flooring and generally confined space. I made a start on dismantling the kitchen units around it in time for the morning, but left it at that when I realised how much of a racket I'd make.

This morning I turned to the yellow pages and had a plumber in by the late morning. Typically the problem was a simple one to solve (the cold water hose needs replaced), but as this wasn't the first time the neighbour's ceiling had leaked we'd decided it was worthwhile getting the situation looked at properly. At least it's all sorted, even if I've yet to put the washing machine back in its place: given a couple of days, the dampness behind it will have dried out naturally.

That said, whither the stunning workmen of fantasy?