The curious incident of the golf club in the night

A visitor asked me why the front window in my porch was broken. When I say broken, I mean that it looks like one of those jagged cartoon windows after a smash and grab: just a few zig zags left round the edges. I suppose I was being a tad optimistic in hoping that no-one would notice. I haven't written about it partly through embarrassment and partly because, at the time, a great deal of distress was caused. However, as I'm quick to recount the exploits of other family members, I suppose it's only fair to come clean.

Last Thursday, I spent a solitary but pleasant evening writing my blog and catching up on correspondence accompanied by two or three glasses of wine. I'd like to explain about the wine. It was purchased from a shop I'd never been in before. It was Californian, low percentage and I didn't have excess quantities due to having to work the next day. I finished what I was doing, closed the patio doors, turned the lights off and went to bed forgetting to remove the key from the front door...which meant that when Jack came home from work, he couldn't get in. For anyone that doesn't know me, I should also point out that I'm an extremely poor sleeper...have been for years. That's what I recall of the evening.

When he couldn't get in, Jack knocked on the door and rang the bell. When that didn't work, he telephoned me. Several times. For an hour. Then he phoned his sister who was away on a course for advice. She telephoned 14 times. I know this to be a truth because that's how many missed calls I had on the land line the following morning not counting those on my mobile. Then they called the police.

The officers of the law arrived and battered on the door. Nothing. Then they all climbed over the back fence and shone torches into the house whereupon they could see me silent as the grave in bed. Being agents of calm, the officers then informed my son that I was probably dead. They went into the garden shed and chose an implement suitable for gaining entry: an iron golf club. (Whatever happened to truncheons?) My son was fraught...'you don't know my mum'! The first I knew about all this was when I was (at last) woken by the sounds of glass smashing. I jumped out of bed...it was hot so no nightie....and rushed into the hall just in time to see the golf club coming through the window again. Terrified, I wondered whether I should call the police as I was unaware they'd already arrived. I shouted out and quickly donned a handy fur (fake) jacket and opened the door. 'What the .......'

Temporarily blinded by flashing blue lights, I recognised my son, his friend, half of Dorset Police and all of the neighbours from within a two mile radius. My son was relieved, distraught and cross. The police cleared off in their landrover without exchanging a word and the neighbours disappeared, clearly upset that I was alive and still shouting.

I cannot explain how this happened. I crept out of my house the next morning like Lazarus risen. As I was clearing up the shreds of glass, a man who I've never seen before called out 'how are you feeling missus?' 'Missus'? He sympathised with my son informing him that they'd already had one woman die in our house, another gone from liver rot over the road, an alcoholic hidden next door but one and folk on the corner plagued by gangsters looking for the drug runners that had lived there before. This is such a quiet little corner of the world. The whole double glazed unit is waiting to be replaced and I must pay for having the first good night's sleep in years. I know what you're thinking but you're wrong. It's a complete mystery.

And now, from the ridiculous to the sublime: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QFLu6bu7LEk