Oh hell and damn nation. Hot on the heels of our major electrical fault just one week ago, me and Mr G this morning uncovered a new problem chez nous.
Since we have some visitors popping round this weekend, we thought it only polite to clean up a little bit. When you start leaving footprints in the dust, you know it is time to locate Henry the Hoover.
I was quite merrily Ecover-ing down the cupboards in the kitchen and singing along to a bit of Rihanna when Mr G came in and declared that, having lived here for three years, perhaps we should attempt to lift the washing machine onto the blocks it was always supposed to be on, so that we could actually put the plinths down under the kitchen units. The thought process behind this being that it may one day inspire us to lay an actual floor - going by the current work rate, in about 5 years' time.
So, down on my hands and knees, I removed the carrier-bag barricade (originally installed to prevent the dog from eating the mouse poison laid down under the sink) and promptly heard a familiar, desperate, expiration of breath coming from Mr G. I knew what this meant, and it wasn't good.
"What now?!" I dared ask.
"Brilliant. A massive leak" came the answer.
I peered under the sink, positioned between the washing machine and dishwasher. Running the length of the two appliances were soaked, rotting, mushroom-covered floorboards, overlooked by a black (formerly white), mould-covered rear wall.
"Excellent!" I declared, choking. Mr G rolled his eyes and slowly shook his head.
"What?!" I coughed. "I'm surprised it hasn't killed us! Mould spores are really dangerous! Don't you remember that episode of CSI?" I asked.
And then I did what experience tells me is best in these situations...
Sent Skipper a picture message with a :( and am currently pretending none of this has happened until the inevitable phone call:
"Alright love, what's that?"
"A massive leak from behind the dishwasher Dad!"
"Well it shouldn't be!"