Along came Potter.

I was minding my own business, listening to 'Harry Potter and the goblet of fire' on audiobook while cleaning the kitchen top. A completely normal Monday morning. Then I decided to go fold some clean washing in the bedroom, and that's when my life turned into a bible story.
The bedroom was flooded, all the clothes were soaking wet and so, quite suddenly, were my socks. For a while I just stood there, sort of not thinking and thinking a thousand things at the same time.
Was this here when I woke up? Was I just to tired to notice my feet were wet? Do we have to move again now? Is it karma because Kim killed that spider in our bed yesterday night?
Then I got my bearings and did the necessary things. Made coffee, went outside with it, lit a roll up and called everyone I know to tell them how much more exiting my day was compared to theirs.
After that I emptied the bedroom and stared at it for a while. Then Gregor, the polish construction worker from next door knocked on my door and asked if he was the only one noticing the new indoor swimming pool. Apparently it wasn't just our basement flat then, it was everywhere.
So Gregor and I started scooping water into a bucket with a shovel and some wet towels. We quite effectively rid the bedroom of excess water, and went outside for more coffee and cigarettes. I felt like a working gal (not the fishnet, standing on a corner type mind) and was very pleased with myself.
Then we went inside again.
The kitchen was now steadily filling up with water, it was seeping out of the walls like puss from an infected wound. I pompously ignored it and went back into the bedroom, a foreboding feeling filling me (try saying that three times fast). The bedroom was yet again flooded.

Great.

Awesomness.

Four hours later we had to admit that the root of the problem was most probably not on the bedroom floor. Thus my day went, polish people came and went.
After Kim came home a new guy appeared. I'd just shared a joke with my new landlord, asking when the magic man was coming to take the water away, and then Potter came.
Honest to god, he was tall and gangly, with black unruly hair and round glasses. He was polish mind, but lets not get obsessed about the details. Apparently he was the expert.

After two hours or so, I had to admit defeat. It wasn't The Boy Who Lived, he couldn't save us. He left. It's better now, still wet, but better-ish.

Pointless post, aight? It was just an excuse to sit down for a few minutes really.