5:15pm-ish Saturday and I'm upstairs rejigging some shelves. Then it happens: rumble rumble bang! What the heck?

• I thought -- p'raps I've dislodged summat with my low-powered cordless screwdriver
• G thought -- he's fainted again and tumbled over under a pile of books
• I then thought -- that boy's fallen off his bed and is lying inert on his bedroom floor
• people over the road thought -- car crash

None of which was true. A chunk of pebbledash (about the size of Wales) had reached some kind of existential crisis, couldn't see the point of clinging on anymore, and come crashing to the ground.

Things fall into place
You get the joke
Fall into place
— Blancmange, Living On The Ceiling

Not often you need a hard hat in the front garden of Broom Acres. Did what any man would do and left it to G to beg help from friend over the road, him what's got a big ladder and Would Know What To Do. Up he went in the dark, glad he'd not had a second glass of wine, and wedged a large Toys R Us among the debris. Tile damage not unlike the Space Shuttle.

Helpful pair of contractor chaps turned up Tuesday to drink coffee and weatherproof the 'ole. Still, as next door neighbour said, "Could have been worse -- could have been my house."