Mad as a tree

I had another plumber come and look at my boiler today. He too has decided it's the ignition. He too left my flat without fixing said ignition.

I want to be a plumber. It's the only job I know where you can earn £100k per year for essentially using three phrases:

• There's nothing I can do love, it wasn't installed right.
• They didn't make many of those because they're always breaking down.
• (Intake of breath through pursed lips) It's not going to come cheap.

As far as I can tell, not a single plumber in the whole world has ever done any work. If I could be absolutely certain of this, I'd take up the mantle. But, as it happens, I don't like touching anything yucky, so perhaps plumbing isn't the ideal career after all.

In other news, I spent most of yesterday evening crawling round my living room floor, trying to fix the wireless Internet that I broke by messing round with the settings when trying to connect the Wii. After an hour-long conversation with my ISP helpline, at least an hour and a half on the phone to Mr Nunn, and a lot more swearing and crawling, I finally fixed it. Who'd have thought that typing in the correct password, without missing out a letter, would be so helpful?

Also I appear to be a human wasp magnet. Should anyone need any wasps, please contact me at the usual address and I shall fulfill your wasp requirements at a hard-to-beat cost.

I worry I might be going mad. Perhaps it's syphilis.