Can't remember my own name...

[venta]

In writing up the weekend, I forgot the excitement that is living in Fort Knox.

Last person out of our house on Saturday forgot to do the Crucial Manoeuvre on the way out. The Crucial Manoeuvre involves making sure that the key is not pushed right into the lock on the inside - if it is, no amount of trying will allow you to unlock the door from the outside.

Picture, if you will, Frances, Andy, chrestomancy and me wandering back from Mo's stag night. All residents of the house now have back door keys to cope with the days when the Crucial Manoeuvre is forgotten: mine was in the pocket of the jeans I'd had on earlier. Frances' never quite got reunited with her after it was lent to Felix a few months ago. Andy's was on the key ring he'd just lent to Jez. We are officially Locked Out.

The favourite window for climbing in is closed. The crowbar which has before been used to break in was safely locked in the shed. The small, upper windows at the front of the house were open.

I assessed myself the smallest, and tried to climb sideways through it. This was not terribly successful, and I retreated as Andy and chrestomancy insisted that they could do better. They, in fairness, weren't hampered by heels and an evening dress, but both possess rib cages whose depths exceed the size of the window.

Back to Plan A. Once again I scrambled over my car's bumper, on to the boot, and tried to hurl myself head first through the window. Having fitted myself through to the hips, I was hanging rather ignominiously trying to work out the correct next move to get the rest or me through - think Dirk Gently and his sofa, and you're on the right lines.

At this point, chrestomancy strolls, smugly nonchalant, across the front room, asking if I need any help. His long arms and prehensile toes had enabled him to swing easily throught the large and commodious open casement at the back of the house. Since none of us had opened it, and indeed Frances and I didn't even know that window opened, we can only assume it's been open since Andy Pater painted the window frames around a month ago... :(

I've collected a nice crop of bruises across my hips from hanging over the window frame. And, of course, subsequent investigation revealed (the following day) that, although my front doorkey had been left in my pockets, the back door key was in fact in the bacg I'd had with me all the time.

Ah well.

Comments

[wimble.livejournal.com]

Having fitted myself through to the hips
You keep telling this story, and I'll have to demand a re-enactment while I fetch my camera :-)

[venta.livejournal.com]

Since I told you once, and wrote it down once, "keep telling" seems a bit excessive.

Oh, and, er, no.

[wimble.livejournal.com]

"keep telling" seems a bit excessive

But that was hardly my point, was it?

Oh, and, er, no

Damn... And it seemed like such a good idea at the time ;-)

[lathany.livejournal.com]

At this point, chrestomancy strolls, smugly nonchalant, across the front room, asking if I need any help

Don't you just hate it when someone does that ?

the back door key was in fact in the bag I'd had with me all the time.

After all that effort, someone had to have a key still. ;-)

[venta.livejournal.com]

Don't you just hate it when someone does that ?


Yup - but I reckon that's why he does it :)

[onebyone.livejournal.com]

They, in fairness, weren't hampered by heels and an evening dress

Seems to me that under the circs, keeping your heels on was dedication to the dress code above and beyond the call of duty.

[venta.livejournal.com]

They're reasonable non-scary heels, and the concept of treading on the things that lurk in the shrubbery/scraping my feet on the pebbledashing was worse.

Not to mention laddering my stockings, of course ;)