Every year, something goes wrong at Christmas. We’ve had the car broken into, the heating fail, but this year takes the prize for the biggest, most epic fuck-up of all time. Really.
The ceiling in one of the bedrooms collapsed. On top of Big T, our 15 year old son.
First we knew was lying in bed, and hearing this immense rumbling sound, then loud crashing, followed a split second later by the screaming of Big T as he crashed his way out of the room and into the bathroom. I tell you, nothing makes a Mum move so fast as her child screaming in terror.
Poor kid was covered in slime and crap that had fallen all over him, and coughing and spitting out more crap. Luckily, praise the goddess, he’s not badly hurt, just scraped up on his arms. It could have been so much worse, but he was sitting at his desk and not lying in bed. We can’t even go there about how bad it would have been if he’d been lying down. *shudder*
So now one of our bedrooms is unuseable. The whole damn ceiling fell down, and it’s open to the roof tiles. Which leak. And of course, it’s pissing down rain. Oh joy.
The clean-up was horrible, the crap and the slime and the dust and chunks of plasterboard were everywhere. We were dragging his computer and telly out when a big chunk of wood fell down and narrowly missed our head. There is stuff all over the landing, and it’s a struggle to move up there. Pete, our hubby, has put a sheet of plastic up in the loft, over the hole, to try and catch the rainwater so it doesn’t come flooding in and take out the floor as well.
So, a very Merry Christmas to you all, and a Blessed Yule.