Screaming sometimes helps, too....

I don't remember
ever screaming as an adult till the occasion last year when I returned to the house after 3 days' break in Wales, while my husband had been staying with his son. I was a bit taken aback that husband was already back in the house, on his own, when I returned at the expected time, and stepson had pushed off. I was even more taken aback when I went into the kitchen to find that the old fridge had finally died, and the floor was covered with water. I took a deep breath and thought: 'empty fridge, throw away spoiled food, mop up and wash floor, get on with buying new fridge. But first, take travel bag upstairs'. So I picked up my bag and headed for the stairs, to find that the cat had been sick on the half-landing. Then I SCREAMED, repeatedly. My poor husband emerged from his room, looking anxious. I said, 'the fridge has packed up, and now I see that the cat has been SICK on the STAIRS!!!' He said, 'Oh yes, J' (his son) 'mentioned that!' If he had seen it, why the **** couldn't he have cleared it up? So I screamed some more, and then dutifully got on with unpacking, clearing feline vomit, washing kitchen floor etc. etc.
I think that the British tendency to keep emotions hidden can be a problem sometimes. I have become particularly aware of this over the last couple of years as I have made more and more Catalan friends. As in other Mediterranean cultures, they are far more physically demonstrative as a matter of course than we are, dispensing hugs and kisses lavishly to all friends and acquaintances, regardless of age and sex, and being totally unembarrassed about weeping in public. It is sometimes very endearing.
Tristesa