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Narrated by James Marriott
It’s 10am on a Monday when my doorbell rings. I’m working and not expecting anyone, especially not two burly men announcing that they are here to do damp works. Damp? Then something clicks. The owner of the flat upstairs is in the process of selling. She had mentioned that her buyer had insisted on damp being treated in the hallway if the sale was to go through, but I never heard any more about it.
The workmen ask to use my power supply, but I don’t want strangers running cables through my home. In the end the estate agent gives them access to the flat upstairs.
My building, which I moved into a month ago, is converted into three flats, with each owner having an