I remember chanting this as little girl – something like ‘Grandma’s stuck on the lavatory, she was there from Monday to Saturday and nobody knew she was there’! I also remember my dear Grandma taking me on holiday with her to Ibiza and she got locked in the lavatory at the airport. I stood and waited silently for a long time until the security man took the lock off. This time it was my turn. Some of the houses I play the harp in are massive, so much so, electric quad bikes are used on every floor to whiz down the corridors taking cleaning stuff and moving furniture. This house was no different. I was offered the use of the lift that ‘Great, Great Grandad had invented’ but declined. The rope looked sturdy enough but the chair perched precariously on the very small platform put me off somewhat. I took the stairs and then the quad bike. The final verbal instruction from the ‘Lord’ was lost as the head cook, Beryl, set off on the quad with me on the back. It was something about the lavatory. Nevermind I thought it’ll probably be obvious. There were two lavatories side by side with their own sinks – mirror-like on each side of the corridor. I picked the one on the left. I pulled the old Victorian lever to flush and the words came to me …. It was definitely something about the one on the left being broken. A huge growling, grumbling vibration filled the room and echoed down the long corridor. It kept growing as I crept silently back to my harp and sat waiting for the dinner guests. It carried on in ten minute intervals all the way through dinner. Luckily as the cheese was brought in it had softened so everyone could hear the harp again. I hid behind the harp every time the ‘Lord’ glanced questioningly in my direction but Beryl shot me a grin and a wink from the doorway halfway through.