Despite all my going on about how great Snowbooks is, my salary is still only miniscule. Really, really tiny. I still rely on my lovely husband Andy to pay the mortgage and bills and buy all the cat food and clothes. (Human clothes, I mean. Cats don't wear clothes. That would be ridiculous.)

And to make the money he has to go to a bank every day and do the sort of job I used to hate so much (although there is a lot more maths in his). One of the things he does to unwind in the evening is to cook - he is an amazing cook and it's a wonder I'm not 18 stone by now. Until now he's had to make do with a crappy old kitchen with a useless cooker where all the numbers have rubbed off years ago and cupboards that have wonky doors. They were those weird plastic-hessian-like beige doors and all the melanine was manky. I used to scrub it for a couple of hours and you honestly couldn't tell the difference.

So we were very excited when he got a modest bonus this year - it meant we could have a nice new kitchen to replace the one that was curling up at the edges. So we had it installed last week - last Thursday, it was. We had a lovely new oak floor put down, and a proper kitchen company to install it so we didn't cut corners.

So what happened last night - after four days of new kitchen bliss? A pipe burst, flooded the kitchen and has ruined the floor and stained the kitchen. It will all have to be ripped out and replaced.

Now, how do I feel? Ah yes - very ... disappointed.