If you happen to hear me scream loudly it'll be because the kitchen ceiling has fallen down...and I'll be screaming in pure rage rather than terror.
It leaks...it's been leaking for years. Just the odd drip when it's raining hard...not so as you'd notice really. Then the drips grew faster so a bowl was essential, carefully placed underneath. Now I have to remember to empty the bowl before it over-flows and the ceiling is a quite repellent shade of dirty brown where the wet has been coming through and the boards are beginning to shift apart.
Remember last year when I finally had proper kitchen cupboards and I painted the walls and stencilled and so on? I had to leave the ceiling well alone because simply pressing lightly on it makes it creak alarmingly...and though I smothered the leaking bits with a thick layer of waterproof stuff...very, very carefully...it hasn't worked 'cos it's too far gone.
So I know you're thinking...why don't they get someone to shin up there on a long ladder and repair it properly...I actually haven't the faintest idea why we don't. Reuben gazed at it and sucked his teeth and shook his head sorrowfully...John next door who is a roofer by trade, did exactly the same but he sprinkled a few fecks about...but I look at it from the outside and get the same view they do and still can't for the life of me see why they can't prop a ladder up and take a look.
They say it's because the tin roof is totally knackered...erm...take it off then? Put a new one on? But no, they sidle away and start talking about the cost of silage or some such riveting topic...
The kitchen is tiny, so is the roof...it was built on later and so has its own roof of tin rather than the slates of the main part of the cottage...
So...every time it rains the water comes through...a little faster for each downpour. And Robert the Rat spends ages up there gnawing away happily until I tire of the noise...he's a very loud sort of a rat...and carefully tap the unleaking part of the ceiling with the end of my walking stick.
One day the entire lot will come crashing down...rotten wood, rusty tin and a startled Robert...it'll land in a nasty soggy heap right on top of one of my newish kitchen cupboards...and it'll probably wait until the middle of the night when the electricity has gone off due to the high winds and the dogs will think it enormous fun...actually Bobby will probably hide under the bed but the two little ones will be enraptured by ratty smells and such like.
That's when I'll scream.