Monday, 11 April 2011

An ex-Estate Agent, a Management Accountant, six sets of keys and two lock-outs.

Just to share my strange Sunday.  After doing nothing but complain about my idiot neighbours I have been reminded that I can heal their situation and the only way peace will come to my world is via ME.  Just a little tale of my life experience yesterday, Sunday 10th April 2011.

I used to be an Estate Agent.  Keys were my thing, yes, I could wax lyrical about keys to houses for at least 500 words.  I resist the urge.  Having purged my soul of vitriol about my downstairs noise makers I went on twitter for more of the same and I noticed my Follower number was on 777.  I thought about my friend who lives 6 roads away.  Her mobile phone number has 777 in it. Well, it used to. Until she lost it at a Christmas Party and the party host found it and put it in a safe place only for it to disappear into the post-Christmas ether. Vanished. So, my friend, who is a Management Accountant improvised and bought a new number, which had 111 in it. We all move on.

My friend's son, Ashley, who is also a friend of my son, Charlie, often locks himself out and is on our doorstep waiting for his mum to rescue him.  It has happened a few times, and every time it happens we say 'must sort a spare key out'.   Anyway, yesterday morning, having been prompted by the 777 on Twitter, I text my friend on her 111 number. No reply.  Odd.  I shuffle round to visit her, as I need to buy some milk and if I am taking my injured foot out to the shop, I may as well have a diversion and go for a chat.

My friend is in!  Excellent!  Why hasn't she replied to my message?  She has recovered her old phone.  Forgot, or hasn't had time to mention it.  Teenager-related stress reigns in her house. I understand completely, I feel like I am living above a pair of thirty somethings going on thirteen.  We stop for a tea-break.  Stop from housework, preparations for the twenty something son's return from Uni and a general double complaining session in the garden.  Of course in the garden. The weather is virtually tropical.  SUUUUN!!!! 

While we are having a little chat, a rest and a catch up, my son calls her son, they arrange to go for a BBQ.  Her son appears in the garden and announces that he has to walk in to town to meet up with someone (we both ignore the mystery, I ignore it less than her but we carry on).  Time is not a luxury and the wind is getting up so we head back indoors only to find the back door locked.  We are locked out.  My friend cannot phone her son, she has no credit.  I phone her son, no reply.  I phone my son who is dolling himself up in white shorts, white t-shirt, no socks and sunglasses outfit pre-bbq style.  He comes round and clambers under the fence, up a light aluminium ladder, hoofs across the roof tiles covering the kitchen and squeezes into the slimmest of gaps in the bathroom window.  I wasn't concerned about him, he has 6ft legs, a physical frame fit for dragging his body across random roofs. No problem.  He comes downstairs with dirty marks on his white outfit "I didn't know it was going to be dirty"  (main concern being the image, not the safety aspect). My friend says "I often get out there with my feather duster".  As only the mother of a pair of boys can. We all laugh, with relief that we are back indoors, safely, all in one piece.  My friend gives us a lift back to ours and I take advantage of being in a car and not walking and I hand my keys to my son so he can let himself back in.  I stay in the car to the shop that sells milk.

Are you seeing the second error of the day?  In the meantime my friend gives me her spare key. Oh good. There will be no more key dramas.  We part company.  My son and her son finally hook up and head out for an afternoon at a bbq in the sun.  Sitting indoors resting my foot with headphones on in order to get away from the music that is coming up from downstairs is too much for me by 6pm. So I decide I shall go to church for some peace and quiet.  I check my handbag for my keys.  Uh Oh.  No keys.  Where are they? Turns out my son let himself in and put the keys in his pocket.  He is now 3 miles away with both our keys in his shorts.  I can get out, but I can't get back in.  I am locked in.  Another phone call to my 777 friend and she comes round again with MY spare key and lets me in. 

Two women, two teenage boys. How many rescues can take place in one day?

Happy Spring everyone xx

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