My friends came round on Friday night.
I had an hour before they arrived to rush round like a loony and clean the entire house. Not very well you understand. But enough to make them think we don't live in a complete tip all the time (which we clearly do). Mostly I just picked stuff up and threw it in my studio. Then locked the door. Good plan!
Until Saturday morning that is. When something terrible happened to the lock and I couldn't get in. Bearing in mind that my 'studio' is a bit of a shed-like structure that Betty and Geoff (previous owners) constructed themselves in 1985 it is unsurprising that the lock finally decided to call it a day. It was just traumatic that it decided to do it on the day the ironing pile - and therefore my entire wardrobe - was locked inside!
I had nothing to wear and was meant to be going out with the kids. So I did what any girl would do in these tragic circumstances. I phoned my Dad.
He arrived with his tool box, took the handle off and fiddled a bit. Then scratched his head. And fiddled some more. Verdict: knackered!
Just as I was trying to work out which old and ugly outfit would be least offensive to put on, the other half arrived home from work to save the day. He's not well known for his DIY skills so I didn't think for a minute he would come up trumps in such spectacular fashion. But. He took a wire coat hanger. Bent it in a very accurate looking sort of way. With pliers. And he picked the lock! Like a robber! 2 minutes and I was reunited with my clothes! Nice one darling!
I haven't delved too deep into his past but I suspect that before he met me he may have been a professional robber...