Living in rented accommodation supervised by very professional letting agents, I have a flat inspection scheduled twice a year. The last one was in May when I had totally jiggered my back. I was unable to walk upright so housework was totally out of the question. On the day of the inspection I had been able to make my way to work, gingerly, but I left a note for the agent to explain the lack of twinkliness in the flat. When I came home from work that day there was a very sweet note from the agent wishing me a speedy recovery.

My letting agent is fully abreast of the whole pigeon thing and my battles with the freeholder to resolve first the birdshit in the bathtub and later the shitty rainwater running down the wall beside my bed. This is not their responsibility, though they have jumped through hoops to assist.

Another inspection was scheduled for Tuesday, so between the moment when V dropped me off at home on her way back to the south coast after visiting what remains of her son on Monday, and heading out to work on Tuesday, I prinked the flat with particular focus on the mould growing on walls, windows and bath, but also a general tidy and re-hanging my framed wall adornments on the previously wet wall.

When I returned home from work on Tuesday bless them! They had left me a festive card and a little chocolate Santa. It may be in response to my peppering the internet with 5* reviews of their professionalism.

It's good to feel appreciated – both ways.