t takes ten minutes, but at last it gets you there. The storm eases and beneath your feet you see the ground getting closer and closer. Finally, with one giant rip of metal, the last length of guttering pulls off and deposits you gently outside your front door.

You’re alive! You’ve survived! It’s hard to believe, but you’ve actually snatched yourself from the jaws of death. You look around and breathe in the fresh sweet air. It never smelt this good before. Life sure seems wonderful!

A moment later your mother comes around the corner of the house. ‘Hey, Mum,’ you say ‘you’ll never guess what just happened . . .’

‘Oh good,’ she says, ignoring what you’re trying to say. ‘You’ve pulled all that rotten old guttering down. Well done.’

And off she goes.

Another moment later your father comes around the other corner of the house.

‘Hey, Dad,’ you say, ‘you’ll never guess what just happened . . .’

‘Oh no,’ he says, ignoring what you’re trying to say. ‘You’ve pulled all that guttering down, right in the middle of a rainstorm. Very clever. You’ve probably flooded half the damn house. Well done.’

And off he goes.

‘So I’ll put it back up again,’ you shout after him, matching his sarcasm with some of your own.

‘Good idea,’ he yells back over his shoulder. ‘Do that.’

‘Grrrr,’ you mutter, going off to get a ladder.