Sunday, 28 January 2018


Since last August, there has been a plastic tub on our kitchen floor, collecting the water that came through the ceiling.
It started off as a shy dribble of droplets. 
Any attention from anybody and it would discreetly dry up.
Twice we thought roofers had mended it and paid them handsomely.
Each time, the leak waited until their vans had disappeared into the distance, ladders jangling wildly, before it reappeared.
In the last couple of months, however, it has gained confidence and has become a gushing, bubbling cascade, appearing EVERY time it rains.
We changed roofers and were impressed by the expertise and diligence of our current crew.
“It’s done,” they said, “That leak won’t trouble you any more.  If you could just BACS us, we’ll be back in the morning for the scaffolding.”
Luckily, that very night, it rained heavily.
Like a mafia boss, drunk on his own importance, our leak forgot to play hide-and-seek and poured in.
I discovered the water on the floor using my sophisticated leak detection technique – I walked into the kitchen in my stockinged feet.
When he returned, the roofer scratched his head, “Well, I suppose it could be the window that’s leaking.”
We had new windows installed a year ago.
Using a hose, he proved it was definitely the window.
So, Leak, I have you running scared now.
All we have to do is get the window people back.

Whom, needless to say, we have already paid in full.

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