Monday 3rd April, 2017                        1815

Christ.

My lazy day took a very different turn about an hour ago.

I was sitting watching a film when I espied a bag lady fishing cardboard out of the bins outside. With a half case of empty wine bottles waiting to be dumped, I thought I would do the old girl a favour and give her another box. Little did I know what a mistake I was about to make.

The lady was grateful for the additional cardboard (God knows how much she has to collect to earn a couple of bob each day) and I went back indoors.

At least I TRIED to. My new lock on the door that I didn’t think I had to lock when popping out to the bins? Well actually I don’t, it locks its-bloody-self!

So there I was, keys inside, phone inside and wearing only a shirt in the chill early evening with light rain starting and unable to get inside. No means of contacting help because I had no phone, the oven was on, reheating pre-prepared macaroni cheese and not a soul around here speaks English.

To say that I panicked would be an overstatement but I will say that various emotions started to run amok in my brain. I had visions of my macaroni eventually bursting into flame and the entire block being set alight whilst I tried to make someone understand I needed an emergency locksmith on the Qing Ming holiday. I was in a tight spot for sure.

I needed something like a sturdy screwdriver to lever my office window open. I was quite prepared to pay for any damage I caused to the latch but nobody could help. I went to the jing jo shop but she didn’t understand what I was saying. Eventually though, and to my great relief, she produced a crowbar. Saved!

Well it wasn’t quite that simple. All the ground floor flats have rather robust cages bolted to the wall outside every window to prevent burglary so trying to get leverage was problematic. Whilst I was in the process of struggling with not being able to get enough angle to pop the latch, a chap happened along and quite rightly wondered if I was trying to break in. Well I was, except I live here. Between the pair of us we managed to get the window open and the keys were sitting there as large as life on my desk. About four feet from the metal cage outside.

Twigs torn from a tree were too springy but I spotted a chap with a decent stick and we called him over so we could borrow it. It was no use. The first fellow disappeared and from where I know not, found a length of rusty old wire which he was able to wrap around the stick and fashion a hook out of the rest. Chap number two was quite tall and had long arms so he took on the task of fishing out the keys. Success!!! Talk about relief!

Ok so now I could get in, put on a jacket and go to the jing jo shop to return the crowbar and buy my usual supplies. I propped the bar against the wall by my door, put on my jacket and went out.

In the space of ten seconds some bastard had nicked the crowbar! I am convinced it was the old man who has the janitor’s cupboard outside my flat in the hall because he was in there farting about and it is tempting to bust his padlock and search in there but I won’t.

So then I had to try to explain to the jing jo shop that the crowbar had been stolen and that I would pay for them to buy a new one. After all, I got away without any damage to the window because the latch proved to be completely ineffective (thank God for the cages) so it is a small price to pay given the alternatives. I failed completely to explain to the woman so she is now convinced I am completely off my rocker. I shall return tomorrow and take my electronic translator with me. How much can a crowbar cost in China? Even if it is 100y I am simply happy to be out of that mess.

It does however make me minded to try and find a safe and secure place to hide a spare key to guard against any recurrence.

As an aside, just around the corner en route to the jing jo shop two tents have been erected. They look like workmen’s tents, the sort they put up when they are working in the sewers. Except they are clearly something to do with Qing Ming (Tomb Sweeping Festival, during which they pay their respects to their ancestors) because in one of the tents there was a dinner party going (they had gas burners and cookers) and in the other it looked as though a shrine had been set up. To add to the occasion a couple of women were wailing and sobbing like good’uns - so much so that before I could see what was actually going on I thought something awful had happened.

But no, all the drama was mine!