I'm writing this message in the hope that it will manage to slip through my floorboards and into your flat. Im trapped under a garden-sized jenga set, which has collapsed on me. please help me, if i move the wrong peace, they could all collapse again. Theirs no way out!!!
I looked gingerly at the note that had, just moments ago, floated down from my ceiling fan. At first, I'd thought it was a message from God, probably asking me to keep the noise down, but then noticed the telltale signs of communication from Len, my upstairs neighbour: (Yes, I'm now living in a flat. Please don't bitch out continuity, I'm fictional, and it breaks up the flow. See, you've probably forgotten what was going on now. go re-read the last sentence and ignore this.) The bad spelling was a hint, but his love of extreme versions of family games was what really tipped me off. I considered helping him for a moment, but remembered all the trouble he'd given me last month, when he made me play snakes-and-ladders with him. As the owner of the game, he climbed a ladder, and cheered while snakes chased me around the flat.
It's lucky I was raised by mongoose really.