Well, what an adventure I've had - just when I thought that life had lost that element of surprise, that ability to catch me off guard and bring me out in a cold sweat.

Yet it was all so innocuous at the start. There I was, washing my hands in the bathroom sink, when the hot water tap gave a choking sound and the flow of water became a trickle, then nothing.

My knowledge of plumbing may be limited, but I do know this is a sign that a washer needs replacing.

The plumber arrived in the afternoon and turned off the water.

I'd forgotten, of course, that even a simple job like changing a washer takes time because you have to drain the system first.

Anyway, half an hour or so later, he was ready to go and told me the water was back on again.

I had no doubt of this as there was an alarmingly forceful sound, similar to Niagara Falls, coming from my loft. This is where the cold water tank is housed.

I made some comment about this noise, mentioning how embarrassing it would be to drown in my own bed (my bedroom is directly beneath the tank) but was told there was no danger of it overflowing.

"Your ballcock's in good condition," he said.

Why, thank you sir, I thought.

I went upstairs later and stood beneath the entrance to my loft, some ten feet from the landing. Niagara had been tamed but I could still hear a faint dripping sound.

Thinking I should investigate, I positioned my wobbly old stepladder under the hatch, climbed up and, like some overweight ape, swung myself into the loft space.

Then I peered into the tank. Though the dripping continued, the water was dark and still and nowhere near the rim.

"I'll wait a few minutes," I thought, "see what happens."

Then I noticed a pile of old books in a corner. A few, I realised, I wanted to read again - so I threw them through the hatch.

Now we get to the exciting bit! The books hit the stepladder, knocking it sideways, and leaving me stranded.

I knew there was no need to panic as The Mother and the dog usually (well, always) call at my house before they finish their late-afternoon walkies.

So, I sat and waited. It was uncomfortable, it was hot and now, of course, I hadn't even anything to read.

Some considerable time later, over an hour to be exact, The Mother arrived and let herself in.

"Hello!" I shouted.

"Hello!" she replied.

And then I heard the front door slam as she went out again.

What the. . .!

About 20 minutes later, The Mother returned.

"Hello!" I bellowed.

"Ah, there you are," she said looking up towards the hatch. "I'd forgotten, to get a paper. What are you doing up there?"

I was going to make some quip about building a nest, but under the circumstances thought better of it.

I knew, however, there was no way I could admit going into the loft merely to listen to a drip, so I said I was checking for woodworm.

"The only thing you've got in your loft is a dripping sound," she replied. "I can hear it from here. Something needs fixing."

"Really?" I said. "I can't hear a thing."