Have you noticed how push-fit plumbing bits only give in to six bar mains water pressure in the middle of the night? And that the resulting spray always manages to take out your (electric) well pump at the same time as covering the entire kitchen in water? And that you’re only awake for this because Wixon, your now-old-enough-to-count-as-a-little-bastard cat, brought in a live shrew and, as part of his nature reserve in reverse plan, released it into the wild under the sitting room carpet? And that when you attempt to clean up, at about six in the morning, you then notice that the bathroom lights have stopped working, for no apparent reason? And that this all happens at the same time as you develop full cold symptoms, complete with a streaming nose that knows no resistance?

No?

Just me, then, eh?

Update
Ah. So it appears that our pipes are frozen. We, er, have no water. Other than the rising main, by the back door, we are surmising that everything is solidly blocked – the water tanks up in the attic of the extension aren’t filling, and nothing is coming out of ‘em either. It’s been really cold here in the last few days, but a large part of me is still thinking there must be some other explanation; these pipes are in the middle of the timber-framed walls, surrounded by lagging and insulation, and on the outside the walls are finished in Heraklith, a renderable board with, apparently, superb thermal insulation qualities. Our previous extension, with single-skin bricks, no insulation, no lagging and copper pipes, used regularly to get frost on the inside of the windows, yet this has never happened to our new extension; also, there was a glass of water left out overnight, and it didn’t get even a hint of ice in it, so frozen pipes? really? To be honest, today, I am feeling a bit beaten down by all this. There may even have been tears. The witchlet is teething, Quercus and I are both feeling pretty shocking courtesy of the return of whatever bug we thought we’d kicked into touch after Chrimbly, and we can’t even wash up because there is no water. Also, to add to my woes, I think I may have to go and stay with Quercus’s mother if this isn’t easily resolved. And I’m supposed to have a meeting at work next Tuesday to discuss my application for a new working pattern when I go back at the end of my maternity leave, so going away at the moment isn’t the best of plans. But, er, no water.

Why is it always now?

[In other news, I appear to be about to resume writing for the Ecologist again. I'll probably cross-post for a bit, but if not, I'll name-drop about it like mad, until you're all thoroughly sick of me. Just so we're all clear, OK?]