Some years ago, a worktop was missing from the kitchen. It was the one under which the washing machine was housed, and had presumably been removed by the previous occupants in order to install their machine and never replaced. It was a bit awkward since objects tended to get placed on top of the washing machine, only to crash to the floor every time the spin cycle started, so the council was contacted and asked to replace the worktop.

Then they were asked again, then again. After several weeks a man finally appeared at the door. "I’ve come about the worktop," he announced. He came in, measured up the gap and scribbled in a little book. "Do you have any the same colour as the rest of the kitchen, so it'll match?" he was asked.

"Eh, colour? Oh no, no, I’m not here to fit a new worktop. I’m just measuring up. Somebody else actually fits it," he replied, and with that he pocketed his tape measure and notebook, stuck his pencil behind his ear and was gone.

More weeks passed. Eventually another man presented himself at the door. "Worktop?" He queried. "Ah at last," he was told, "Through here."

Once in the kitchen, he took out a tape measure and a notebook, and proceeded to measure up. "ER, somebody else has already done that," he was told, "you are actually going to fit the worktop this time, aren’t you?"

"Me? No, I’m just here to measure up. Somebody else does the fitting." And with that he was through the door and gone.

More weeks passed. Cups and plates continued to plummet floorwards every time the washing machine went into it shivering and shuddering routine. Then another man appeared at the door.

"I’m from the council, here about the worktop."

"Hang on. Are you going to fit a new worktop, or just measure up? Because it’s already been measured twice and we heard nothing more both times."

"Ah. Measured twice already you say. Er, look, I think I’d probably better report in." And off he went.

Barely a saucer remained whole when, many weeks later, yet another council person made an appearance. "You're here to fit a worktop, are you" he was asked, and replied in the affirmative.

"Not just measure up and go away?" No no, he had all his tools in the van and everything,

"And you’ve got an actual piece of worktop, the same colour and pattern as the rest of the kitchen, and you’re going to fit it now?" Yes, look, here it is, all cut to size and everything.

He was ushered in like a mad multi billionaire at St James’ Park. Fifteen minutes of screwing, whistling and edge sealing later he was away, leaving behind a gleaming, fully fitted, nicely matching worktop. It was a miracle.

A week later a letter arrived. It was from the council, informing us of a project to take place in the coming months, to upgrade all the houses on the estate. Starting with complete new kitchen cupboards and work tops. You couldn’t make it up.