A garden trespasser sausage chef (Rousse)

When I glanced through the bedroom window I saw a tall dark man cooking sausages on our barbecue in our garden.

‘Go get him!’ I ordered TPR.

‘No problem’, he replied, waving his axe in the air.

While TPR charged out the back door, I ran into the kitchen to grab the camera so that I could photograph the garden trespasser. However, before I even had a chance to take the camera out of its case, TPR returned from his quest, groaning.

‘What happened?’ I asked.

‘He got me before I got him’ he replied, then doubled up in pain from a massive blow to his abdomen.

I ran to the phone to call the police, but the line was dead. We were forced to accept that TPR’s attacker would escape unpunished.

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