I WAS working away on the computer in my study the other day when there was an anguished cry from the room next door.

I should explain that my study is in fact the spare bedroom, which no longer has a bed in it since the children flew the nest.

There is a cot for little visitors, two brimming bookcases and three built in wardrobes made by 84-year-old Cyril from Wark many years ago, which hardly leaves room for my desk and Mastermind style padded chair.

Still it does the job, and I was a bit cross to be disturbed from my task in compiling a match-day programme for Tynedale Rugby Club.

“What’s the matter?” I said brusquely, and Mrs Hextol quavered from the Hextol Towers master bedroom: “I’ve fallen through the floor...”

My blood ran a little cold, for the squeals appeared to be coming from an area of flooring I had “repaired” a few short months earlier. It had been issuing ominous squeaks for some time but my philosophy has always been:“If it isn’t actually broken yet, there’s no need to fix it.”

By the time I had got into the bedroom Mrs Hextol had extricated herself, but there was a tell-tale sag in the carpet.

Having first made sure Mrs Hextol was undamaged I rushed downstairs fully expecting to see sagging plasterboard and jets of water squirting from the light sockets, but thankfully, the damage appeared to be only skin deep.

I knew from previous experience there were yards of copper piping just millimetres beneath the floor boards but it appeared to have survived.

For some reason, Mrs Hextol has little faith in my DIY skills, and railed: “I told you we should have got a joiner in last time rather than letting you codge it up.”

My mind went back to the time I was cutting the grass for my late father in law, when he asked me to hang a cupboard in his conservatory. After several hours of careful measuring, wall drilling, rawlplug fitting and screw screwing, the cupboard was securely fastened to the wall.

I couldn’t quite believe it, and nor could Mrs Hextol, who pushed and prodded it, and finally had to concede I appeared to have done a good job.

I strutted back to the lawnmower with a jaunty air, but about 10 minutes later, there was an almighty crash, followed almost instantly by an enraged Mrs Hextol, howling: “Frank Spencer, get yourself back in here!”

I did as I was told, and found the cupboard lying on the conservatory floor in many pieces, surrounded by heaps of nuts, bolts and screws.

“You never told me you were going to put stuff in the cupboard,” I protested weakly.

But back to the present and I had to go to the garage to find my boxes and screwdrivers and other paraphernalia I had little idea of what to do with.

I tried to peel back the carpet to assess the damage, but couldn’t do so without taking the bedroom door off, and moving two wardrobes.

After some considerable time, I did manage to lift the carpet, with much apprehension, and to my utter delight, I discovered my previous repair had stood the test of time, and was as robust as ever.

The damage had occurred to a separate section of flooring, which had split down the middle as neatly as if it had been hit by an axe. I picked up the bits, and was relieved to see the nest of copper pipes below appeared sound.

I knew I had a small amount of flooring material in the garage, and despite Mrs Hextol’s misgivings I managed to root it out from behind the wallpaper pasting table, a pair of ski boots and a broken LS Lowry print.

I had measured the hole, and then tried to mark out a piece of the same size on my haul from the garage. The pencil keep breaking, so I used a rusty nail to carve out an approximate likeness, before attacking the board with my notoriously blunt saw.

I do not have a Workmate or other implements to hold wood in place, so I just hacked away with the saw with the boarding clamped between my knees.

I tried to follow the nail lines, but I wandered well off line, and the piece I eventually created looked nothing like the broken piece it was based upon.

Mrs Hextol was still standing over the hole with arms folded and engine running, but to our mutual astonishment, the piece slotted in like a bum on a pot.

That was more than a week ago, and it is still holding firm - for now!