Locked out!

So there I was on Monday morning, pootling round the house, getting ready for my session with James, when the rubbish men came. After emptying out the wheelie bin, the rubbish men left it out on the street. So I thought I'd do my civic duty and bring it in to the front garden. My trainers were upstairs, so I slipped on Mark's slippers – a pair of plastic flip-flops – and, latching the door (or so I thought), stepped outside to get the bin. It was a windy morning, as some of you may remember, and the wind caught the door and slammed it behind me. Had it actually been on the latch, as I was convinced it was, it wouldn't have been an issue – but it closed behind me with a bang. I was locked out.

Not a problem, I thought. Two of my neighbours have a key and, given that it wasn't quite 8.30, I thought one or the other must be in. In fact, the lights were on at Ann and Patrick's place next door and Anne's car was still parked out on the street. So I nipped through their gate and rang the bell. And rang the bell again. Nothing.

No worries, I'll thought, I'll try Rob and Jamie's. But the blinds were closed and I couldn't even hear the yapping of their neurotic little dog Connie.

It was at this point that James came cycling up the street, a broad smile on his face (no doubt in anticipation of whatever session of sadism he had in mind for the morning). Hating to disappoint him (not), I gave him the bad news – but I got no reprieve and found myself out in the park, doing step ups onto the bench and a series of boxing moves in Mark's slippers (how glam, not).

Lucky for me, it turned out that Ann was home after all – she'd just been in the shower at the point when I got locked out. Shame I didn't find out until after an hour's heavy exercise in my plastic flipflops. Next time I get locked out, I'll try and make sure I'm wearing my trainers...