Where, exactly, is Julie Andrews when you need her?

Overnight, the Drip fills the bowl I have placed to catch it. I may have to get a larger bowl. I do hope that no one in drought-stricken parts of the world resents this gift of irrigation that has been bestowed on me.

I wake up at 7:00 and do the Sitting OK, but immediately vote to return to sleep, getting up again at 9:30, still feeling very tired. I wander into the living room and stare at the chaos (into which I have to fit one admittedly not colossal man and a microphone stand at some point today), in the hopes that the mess will begin to feel self-conscious and sheepish and clean itself up of its own accord, but no such luck. Where, exactly, is Julie Andrews when you need her?

Breakfast, squint at the Internet, write a diary entry for yesterday, then write half of it again when it refuses to enter the database without a struggle, and then try and organise things: the small table goes at an angle so that the seven guitar guitar stand can go by the window. With a bit of effort I make a working space and hoover it. The guitar rack is very good, although it does make my living room look like a shop (whereas before it looked like a collage – bits of paper all over the place with guitars stuck higgledy-piggledy).

Peter arrives at about half-past one and I play him one of the tracks that I’ve been working on, to general approval. I’m going to use a very directional mike for vocals and point it in different direction from the constant traffic in hopes that it helps. We lay down multiple takes of the vocals on the rest of the songs and I put them all dry onto a CD so that Peter can choose his favourite. We have been working on this for over two years. The problem has been entirely me, wandering off and being unobtainable and wierd for months on end.

When Peter leaves I have dinner and then do my GC practise and listen to some of the things we recorded again: it does sound a lot better than what we had before, partly because it’s 24 bit, but I’m sure that Logic just sounds better: richer with more definition. But I could be wrong. The HiFi business is predicated on the notion that anything can be made to seem better-sounding than anything else as long as the motivation on the part of the audient is there.

When I go to flush the toilet, the handle sort of snaps – closer inspection shows that it is not the handle that is broken but the steel clip that connects it to the valve in the cistern. Steel. Plastic cistern, plastic pump doobry, plastic valve, plastic handle. Steel clip that holds it all together because they have to build in obsolescence somewhere, otherwise it would last forever. And so beautifully timed. My wardrobe has its own rainfall statistics, I’ve got Taiwanese rice farmers and their oxen eyeing my bedroom carpet approvingly and now I have to fish around wrist deep in cold water every time I want to flush the loo.

That exorcism is looking more inviting by the day. Sometimes when events spiral out of control you have to cow them back into manageability with a totally ridiculous gesture.

I go to bed, but the leak is worsening, audibly dripping and rhythmically so. It’s difficult to forget what is going on down there and also that this is something over which I have no control. Added to which, from a personal comfort point of view the bedroom resembles a bus shelter at the moment. In my frustration I hammer on the ceiling (only once, but forcibly). I get up and check the bowl that I emptied before going to bed, and it’s already significantly filled. I replace it with the bucket that I put under the drip in the bathroom (the one by the water tank, remember?) improve the strip of plastic that guides that pesky corner-of-the-door-jamb drip into the receptacle. I go into the living room, whine on the notBBC instant messager and then write this. It’s 2:00am and I’m simultaneously wide awake and sick-to-my-stomach tired. I’ll try to think of a joke.

I wonder how the Dalai Lama deals with such situations. With a smile probably, and the calm acceptance that comes with generations of rinpoche-hood. And frankly he probably has people to deal with plumbing tragedies.