There's a hole in my kitchen

My name is Gemma Groundhog. Go on – laugh it up. You know you want to. Finished? Now? Right, let's get on with it.

I'm here to complain about my kitchen. What's wrong with it? Where do you want to start? The rent for my house isn't cheap, you know. Well, you do know... You're my landlord. For what I'm paying, I at least expect a kitchen that's in a fit state. The worst thing is the hole in the middle of the floor.

Yes, a hole. As in a gaping crater that my foot can fit through. I have a chair placed over it so that I don't fall down it.

What does it matter where it goes? It's there and it shouldn't be. I want you to get someone out to fix it.

Material? It's wood, I think. Look, this is your house. You should know what it's made of. There's lino, too. That's why I didn't notice the hole at first. The lino is quite new, I'd say. Not a tear or a blemish in it. Well, there wasn't. Until my friend Liza put her foot through the hole. Now she won't speak to me. Thinks I set her up! I've explained that I didn't know the hole was there but she refuses to believe me.

Now, when are you going to come out and fix it? You'll send someone out tomorrow? Well, I suppose that will have to do. And make sure they're presentable. The last workman you sent me had a five o'clock shadow – at ten in the morning. Scruffy so-and-so. Yes, it does matter. A man should take pride in his appearance as well as his work.

Well, that's all for now. Goodbye!