Alison Goulding: ‘We are no longer living in a pond’

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TROUBLE was brewing in paradise last week.

I’ve been in my little flat for three years now and I still think it is the dog’s bloomers.

But a murky little problem reared its murky little head when the cold weather arrived.

These days I have a flatmate to aid me with the wretched bills which means the amount of clothes that need to be washed and dried has doubled overnight.

Which is fine... except the flat is struggling to cope with the amount of warm, wet air wafting about and we are riddled with condensation.

Waterfalls have been cascading down the windows and moulding everything up. My curtains and carpet have turned into mini rainforests complete with ferns, mould and frogs.

Since there are no sensible adults in my life (myself included) I decided to Google the issue. The answer it seemed, was a new bit of kit.

A dehumidifier.

I know, try to contain yourself, we’re talking top-flight rock ‘n’ roll stuff here.

My brain screached when it saw the price – £100 for an ugly white box that collects damp? I was fuming – what a rip-off.

I grumbled off to Argos and then, back home I assembled the blasted thing, switched it on, gave it a kick and then stomped off and forgot all about it to go and eat my tea.

Two hours later it was still whirring away. I walked past it and gave it the evil eye and then felt a twinge of curiousity as to whether or not it was actually doing anything.

So I pulled out the water tray. An inch of water met my stare.

“It’s working,” I yelled, overwhelmed by the blatant display of physics going on in my own home.

Suddenly I realised my anger at the cost of dehumidifiers was totally misplaced – instead I should be humble and grateful that my own personal water feature and science experiment had cost so little.

These days we are no longer living in a pond. The mould is in retreat, the clothes are drying quicker and I am still feeling like Jesus (in his water into wine moments) every time I check the tray and find five litres of sloshing water gathered like a miracle from the air.

My only slight worry is that statistically, humans are 70 per cent water.

So if I leave it on long enough there’s a good chance myself and my flatmate will be turned into dried fruit.

Rather than scaring me, this just fills me with even more awe for the mighty dehumidifier.

“Please don’t kill us,” I whisper to it every night – and then I switch it on again.