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For those of you that know me, you will know that despite having relatively few issues in other parts of my life (touch wood) when it comes to flats and places to live, I seem to have all the bad luck.

When we moved into a flat in Leamington Spa in our second year, the entrance to the flat was down an alley, where all the overflowing wheelie bins for the entire street were kept. This not only contributed to the slightly funky smell, but also accounted for the strange characters we used to find down there (drunk people urinating, old women looking through the rubbish, we once even found a tramp asleep in one of the bins). There was also a bird that died in the alley. It's decaying carcass then stayed floating about in a large puddle (not great drainage down the alley) for the best part of six months.

Our front door down the alley. And one of the many neighbouring wheelie bins.

We then moved to a lovely big house, but it was again a little odd. There were two kitchens but both missing vital kitchen appliances (a working fridge, cooker, table, sink with both working taps). Between the two we had more or less one fully functioning kitchen. There was a bathroom in the kitchen, a mad person living downstairs and a shower with a door that never shut.

Outside the big house on Leicester street.

I then moved to London, and a grotty little flat in Brixton. While I loved it in many ways, it was a nightmare place to live. It was on two floors, but each floor had a separate front door (so going for a wee in the night, you would have to take your keys, let yourself out of one door and into the next, and back again). We also shared the flat with a number of furry, squeaky friends, despite numerous visits from pest control, and the ceiling in the kitchen came down not once, not twice but three times. It was also above some rather shady businesses.

Me painting the kitchen in the hope of making it look a little nicer after the ceiling came down the second time.

Then the brief stay in Clapham South. Not a lot to report other than the sub-zero temperatures inside the flat. It was warmer outside. And no I do not jest.

And finally my flat now. Before moving in we were so excited - a grown-up flat without problems and weird quirks. But alas not. As time has moved on the list of problems has become extensive - the door that leads to a 14ft drop, the badly done electrics, meaning that every fortnight we are plunged into freezing darkness for days, a boiler only comes on sporadically, a bathroom fan that always leaks, a hole where a dishwasher should live. But it has been the events of the last week that have been the most worrying. We have started hearing a sqawking, like a bird (a large bird) in great distress.

Doesn't seem so bad I hear you say. But the noise is coming from under the floor. We have now realised that the decking out the back of the flat is over a big hole, that runs under my room, the kitchen and the living room, and culminates behind our door that leads to The Hole. And this poor distressed animal seems to be running around in this hole. We've heard it behind The Door, under the living room, the kitchen, and off-putingly under my room.

We don't really know what to do. Siobhan's only suggestion was to open The Door. My response was no.

I'll let you know if we have any developments. For now though, I'm looking at new flats.