Today was the recycling day, and as I nipped into the back alley to grab the recycling box, the wind blew the gates shut behind me.
Shit.
I was wearing my pyjamas and slippers, standing in the street, at midday in December. I realised I didn’t have my keys or my phone. And that I’d left a pot of coffee on the stove. Time was critical; I couldn’t slouch round a friends house and wait it out, because my home would burn down in the mean-time.
I tried to climb the back gate. I didn’t make it. Some workmen at the end of the street looked at me weirdly, but didn’t offer to help. I tried to stand on somebody else’s recycling box and broke it – sorry no. 21! Luckily, a young couple was just coming down the street, and I begged them to help me.
“Please can you give me a bunk-up over my back gate,” I said, “I’ve locked myself out and left something on the stove.” For some reason I said this looking at the lady of the pair, but the bloke took pity on me and gave me a great bunk-up, which made me conscious of how crap I am at giving them. I found myself about seven feet off the ground, lying along the top of the gate, looking down at them.
“Thanks, that was a great help!” I said, and dropped down onto a waiting pile of wine bottles. “Thanks so much!” I actually yelled over my shoulder, as I ran into the kitchen and turned off the stove. My coffee was just starting to boil, leaving dark brown stains on the hob.
So, if you were walking through Heaton’s back-alleys this morning, and you (or your partner) gave a bunk-up to strange bearded man, wearing pyjamas in the afternoon, thank you. Thank you so much.
