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@adroit
After the 1987 hurricane I noticed that a few ridge tiles had been blown from my roof and lay shattered all over the ground. My next door neighbour, and old boy named George, offered to go and get some new ones in the week and help me fit them on the weekend. He was a really helpful and handy bloke, in his late 70s.
On the saturday morning we rigged up one extension ladder on to the roof and another laying flat on the roof to reach the ridge.
George was quite keen to fit the ridge tiles when we were on the ground, but once he got onto the ladder on the roof, with the ridge tiles as well, he started to get a bit nervous.
I was at the top of the ladder against the wall and he was making his way up the roof ahead of me when he stopped, I think fairly scared.
Suddenly he let out a parp that was clearly not just gas. I didn't realise, I thought he needed a hand with the tile, so I started to climb a bit higher up to get a bit closer.
It was then that I noticed the large spreading damp patch in the seat of his pants, the smell and the look on Georges face. We both came down that ladder like firemen down slippery pole.
Me desperately trying to avoid what was by now leaking majorly from his trousers, and was making the ladders a hazard, George trying to get down and home.