Tray, tray and tray again.

There must have been a time before my flat. A time before, when it didn't exist (or else existed outwith my knowledge), when it didn't consume my every waking thought so. But it's difficult to remember now.

The worst part is that I know I've become such a terrible bore on the subject. Like those peculiar self-obsessives who seem able to twist all conversation in their vicinity until it revolves around themselves - much as matter spirals towards a black hole - so too I seemed condemned to misdirect all potential topics of conversation towards my flat. I can seemingly craft an apt allusion towards it to fit nearly any scenario with scarcely any effort.

Still, there was finally light at the end of the tunnel. After endless weeks during which nothing was seen to happen, things seemed to be going my way again. The plumber turned up and did some work. The electrician is due on Monday. The tiler plasterer and decorater soon after that. All my dominoes were finally lining up neatly at least.

And then I got a call from the plumber to tell me he'd discovered a large area of damp underneath the shower tray. I'm hardly any expert in these matters, but he made it sound rather serious and directed me to call a specialist.

My neat row of dominoes has collapsed. I suspect they were more like a house of cards.

Sigh.