The other day, during a big rain, I remarked (yes, I'm totally using the French sense of the word) that there was a pouch of accumulated water on the fiberglass sheets of our terrace roof. I took a long pole and gently--gently--lifted the pouch. The pole stabbed right through the fiberglass, and I got a shower of dirty rainwater in my face. And the shower kept coming--100 liters worth during the duration of the rain, in addition to the other leaks that we already have.mana_trini, being the good husband (perhaps, frigg, I should say "wer" so that I'm not using your Danish word :P) that he is, bought some new sheets and repaired my inadvertent damage. Once he took off the old sheets, we could see that they were a burnt caramel color--almost black along the area where we had the leaks--instead of opaque with off-white fibers. It was so baked by the sun, it is no small wonder that it broke under such a slight pressure.
We hoped that his reparations would fix the other leaks that we have, but we hadn't since had a good rain to test it out. J wasn't quite as optimistic as I because he had seen the condition of the rest of the roof. Well, yesty, the sky was black and charged with promising clouds. In my chipper way, I chanted, "Rain, rain, rain!!!" And boy did it. I checked the leaky areas and they were DRY! With a gloating grin, I went back to drilling holes in rocks and shells for my jewelry. A few minutes later, I checked again, and streams--a veritable curtain of water--were pouring onto the terrace. Even worse than before, I think. I frantically placed the buckets, bottles, and pans. The rain lasted 30-40 minutes and I dumped over 200L of water; that is WITHOUT the hole. Also, two leaks started up over our bed and I didn't catch them in time, so our bedding was soaked, forcing me to sleep inside.
We called the landlord about the leaks last year and she did nothing. J sent her a message yesterday (she's in mainland France), but she hasn't called back. All I have to say is that it had been be fixed before we go on holiday. I'm not coming back to a flooded house.