When I first opened my eyes I was very surprised to see my colleague AC standing over me at the side of the bed.
“I’ve brought your breakfast”, he announced, waving three thin white carrier bags overflowing with Chinese food in takeaway cartons.
“Hush”, I said, “You’ll wake TPR. Come with me into the kitchen”.
As I led him through the hall, I hoped that AC would not be too shocked by the sight of me in purple fleece jim-jams. However, there was something far more shameful in the dark kitchen: a huge mess of dirty dishes and abandoned DIY. When I reached for the light switch nothing happened. The electricity was off too.
We got the power back by fumbling with the mains switch behind the dresser. Once the lights were on we were able to see the three teenage girls in the uniform of George Heriot’s School helping themselves to cereal for breakfast. The one with the all the Hello magazines stuffed into her school bag and reaching for the Dorset Cereal was apparently my daughter.
AC dumped the carrier bags of food on the table and said his goodbyes. It was only when he headed down the hall that I wondered how he had managed to get into the flat without a key. Then I saw the twins in tartan towelling dressing gowns loitering by the glass porch door.
“We’re just here to collect the laundry”, said one, very politely. He clearly believed that I was unaware of the modus operandi of this underground criminal pair. TPR and I had been expecting them for weeks, and had planned for their arrival. I shouted our coded message down towards the bedroom to summon back-up in the form of my husband.
“Guy, the laundry men are here!”
TPR leapt out of bed and would have to tackle them naked – but that was their fault and not his.
Dreamaticus 