Water, water, everywhere...

ALONG with Robert Mugabe, Bob Geldof and that gangster girl off Big Brother, the accounts manager at Welsh Water is now on my list of people I'd like to have beaten with sticks.

After all it was he - presumably sat in a plush Cardiff office - who authorised a man in a van to come and cut all my running water off, turning my lovely Denbighshire flat into a unhygenic hellhole in a matter of hours.

Annoyed? You bet, and I was even more furious when even after the outstanding bill (left by someone who'd lived there long before me) had been cleared, they still refused to turn it on again. Thanks to red tape, I was left without any water whatsoever for four whole days.

I was amazed by how much I could take water for granted, but with no clean plates left to eat off and my sink busy developing its own ecosystem, I was almost left hoping that Bono and Midge Ure would turn up, hold a benefit concert in my honour and raise the funds for me to get reconnected.

Only last night, with my flat verging on becoming uninhabitable, did my landlord and I finally get the taps gushing once again, but after so long languishing in my very own health hazard, I'm a bit nonplussed with whoever it is who calls the shots with water.

Anyone from BBC's Watchdog reading?