Starting innocently with a few slow drips - much like the previous evening's party - it had soon become an experimental music installation consisting of approximately a dozen water-holding receptacles, from plastic champagne flutes to large two-handed saucepans, creating a rhythmic, subterranean sound wall of dripping water. Thankfully the brownness of the liquid was due to it seeping through the wood in the ceiling, not particles of decay leeching from the rotting body of our unknown neighbour in the flat above. Which was a relief I can tell you.
A photo of me taken early Tuesday morning, surveying the damage to the mezzanine (to be sent to our realty agent)
The apocryphal waters flowed for six days and six nights, during which I assumed the persona of a navvy on ye old man o' war, furiously slooshing out belowdecks in a desperate attempt to keep the sea at bay - well, emptying out pans and full cups in the sink - before Adam ingeniously used a plastic storage box as an impromptu water bucket and the whole thing became a lot more managable. And according to a telegram received just this morning, he is to be awared the Mario Mario Luigi Mario Green Pipe award for unrivaled ingenuity in the field of home plumbing, so along with his birthday he has had a great week.
The additional cash prize for further research was also well-received
As is write this, the ordeal has been over for two days and the recovery process has started (i.e. I have picked up some of the plastic cups). Isn't it remarkable how life finds a way to survive?
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