The case of the lurk­ing cat and murky woman

Harefield Gazette - - OPINION -

IHAD just fin­ished slather­ing fake tan over my arms ready for the big sum­mer re­veal, and was set­tling at my lap­top while it dried, when the door­bell rang. I’m not a great fan of the dark ma­hogany all-over spray tan, but, be­cause I am nat­u­rally as white as a cod loin, I aim for light beige be­fore un­veil­ing my arms to the world.

So there I was, cov­ered in a dark brown muddy-look­ing con­coc­tion (it show­ers off the next day to leave a barely no­tice­able off-white colour) when the bell went again.

It was only about 8pm, but I had shut down for the evening, and had even locked up pre­ma­turely, hop­ing this might pre­vent me from pop­ping down for too many snacks or wine top-ups, if the writ­ing stalled.

Mr F was some­where else in the house, read­ing and, I knew, obliv­i­ous to any sounds like phones, door­bells or force 10 gales. He didn’t even hear an up­rooted tree fall on to a nearby house re­cently, even though it shook ev­ery­thing for miles around.

So, I tum­bled down the stairs – al­most lit­er­ally. On a re­cent hol­i­day I tripped down two, and ended up with a bloody nose and se­vere bruis­ing. I’m now try­ing to be care­ful be­fore ‘fall­ing over’ be­comes ‘hav­ing a fall’ and I get whipped in for tests.

I was sur­prised to see con­cerned neigh­bours on the doorstep. They were wor­ried about our daugh­ter’s cat, which we had been look­ing after for a week. Ap­par­ently he was hang­ing around street cor­ners. Prob­a­bly smok­ing.

I was grate­ful (read­ers will re­mem­ber we had a panic when we first looked after him and he went miss­ing, and our neigh­bours or­gan­ised a search party), but also very puz­zled, as Jan­gles had been re­turned to his own­ers a few days be­fore – many miles away.

“But it’s a big gin­ger tom,” they said. “But I saw them drive away with him,” I in­sisted.

We kept on like this for a while, un­til we agreed that more ac­tion would be taken the fol­low­ing day if he hadn’t found his way home.

Back in­doors, I passed a mir­ror to see a grubby-look­ing mad woman re­flected back at me. How on earth did my neigh­bours man­age to keep a straight face? I had to­tally for­got­ten about the fake tan.

Ex­pect to see me fea­tured on TVs Neigh­bours from Hell any time soon.

Newspapers in English

Newspapers from UK

© PressReader. All rights reserved.