The man upstairs is at it again. To look at him you would be forgiven for thinking he is just a mild-mannered retired orthodontist because all orthodontists have that calm and reassuring manner about them. They have to or their patients would run a mile. It’s the same with dentists for they all belong to the “I know that we have hurt you in the past, but that was before anaesthetics were invented” club. They pretend that the soothing aquarium in the waiting room and the Enya music are going to improve matters. And they have been to courses at the local Comedy Club for dentists, orthodontists and even proctologists on “How to laugh your way through the consultation. It does wonders for your patient.”

Anyhow, be that as it may, my new neighbour is affable and his wife is charming…So far.

The past couple of weeks, though, there’s been quite a lot of activity upstairs. There’s been drilling, hammering, moving of furniture. A general ruckus, you could say.

Yesterday, a huge, huge, tub was brought into our building. It was large enough to hold a body. And it was destined for the apartment above us. It came from a landscape designer, or so we were told when I asked the delivery guys. But you never know, do you?

I’ve watched “Rear Window” and I am an avid pupil of Channel 113, not to mention the Crime Investigation Channel. Well, they teach you all about the realities of life and how you don’t know what’s around the corner. I am quite the expert on forensics now and can blissfully give advice on the use of luminol chemiluminescence to detect the presence of blood on a surface, even when the criminal has been meticulous in his domestic duties after the murder. There’s always just that little speck left between the floorboards, isn’t there?

“That was a large tub, wasn’t it?” I remarked to my husband. He who is renowned for seeing nothing and smelling nothing, told the delivery guys that he would send the lift back down for them. Well, that’s how big it was. We couldn’t all fit in.

“What do you think is going on up there?” I asked when all the drilling resumed this morning. My husband took his time but he agreed to have a look outside to see what sort of vans and trucks were parked out the front. He came back with the newspaper and reported “a garden design firm, an electrician, an interior decorator and a couple of vans without identification on them… Now can I read the paper?”

I don’t know why I put up with him. I’m convinced that God created my husband and then He apologised.

There’s very little to go on so far, but I’ve been thinking about the large tub, the electrician, the occasional sound of water flushing and all that hammering. Could it be hydroponics? Could the electrician have installed some artificial lighting? Could it be what I think it’s for?

I really must give my little grey cells a break. I should watch more of the History Channel and all those relaxing programmes about World Wars and massacring Highland Clans instead of the crime genre. I think it may be getting to me. But you have to admit all that activity upstairs is very suspicious.