as Another kettle meets it’s Demise as thee black mould has finally killed it off even though I’ve cleaned and scrubbing it off and just lyke all thee others it stopped boiling as my husband and Jack said that’s not Yorkshire tea in you’re cup as I turned around and looked oh my God tis be a storm in a tea cup but as thee rainuth on thee winder pain as ye wynd blew as my husband said it’s tyme for a hurricane to start humming and tis really don’t matter if pitta patter patters all of thee day