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I have a few housekeeping issues to sort out following December’s climatic rumpus. First of all, I am without a telly; my aerial has become bent – I can get CBeebies and occasional blasts of Tomasz Schafernaker but precious little else. I have also lost yet another fence panel. Is this God’s way of trying to tell me to grow a bush? Furthermore, I am also experiencing tragedy in the window and door department; my back door and two of my windows are jammed. I have been yanking vigorously but to no avail. I am currently working out how I can escape during a conflagration through a window that measures 1′ by 3′. Failing that, I reckon I can just about get through my small dog flap if I put on a pair of Spanx and am prepared to dislocate my shoulders. Next on the diy agenda is building a container for my collection of horse shit on the allotment. I have accumulated plenty of discarded pallets from nearby skips in the hope that a man will pop by and offer to turn them into a couple of bins. Instead, I get a young man at the door dressed in knickerbockers and a ruffled shirt who has spied said pallets down my back passage and wants to relieve me of them. Despite his Dickensian proclivities, and a little repulsed by his audacity, I say ‘no thank you – go and raid your own skip Pip’.