I have spent most of today tinkering around with my short story “The Last Plank”, a story that it seems is cursed. It has taken me weeks to get to this far on it – most stories of this length take a fortnight tops to bang out a first draft – and I was determinded to finish the first draft.

I was doing pretty well, ending finally clear in my head, fate it seems had other ideas.

Having just had a shower whilst I thought about the next scene I wandered down to the computer absent mindedly considering it was a little odd I could still hear the shower in the dining room.

Then it, forgive the pun, sank in. I could hear running water downstairs – on entering the kitchen I was treated to water pouring through the neatly drilled holes in the ceiling where the electrician had replaced the lights.

That’s right water + electricity = Really Bad Idea.

So I reacted with my customary cool and poise:

I yelled, I screamed, I ran upstairs to tell G to turn the shower off, I ran back down the stairs, I threw the stored furniture and ironing board from in front of the fusebox as I turned off the power, I ran down the shed to get various tools.

You get the idea, a career in crisis management does not beckon.

Anyway, anyone know a plumber?