You achieved more than I did this morning (although I did come to work via tesco which was v. quiet and I bought the smallest pair of crocs (or 'crocs' really) in the world. Size 4-5!
I am now going to gladden your hearts and make you smile with a tale of my incompetent husband. He has truly excelled himself. I dedicate this post to Rolf.
Before I begin - he's a v. clever man (top 5 in Oxford University in his year in law) which doesn't = common sense, obv; he's kind and helpful but somewhat gormless.
Yesterday we were playing in the garden, the three of us. DH suddenly piped up 'look, I've got a key in my pocket! What do you think it is?' I ignored him, as you do, toddler-style. 'Yes dear. No, it's not my key, my key is on its keyring.' In fact, I thought it was one of his own keys and he was being silly.
Turns out not silly, but amazingly, incomprehensibly stupid stupid STUPID.
He went on the train to London at 6.45, the train which gets in to Euston beyond midnight, but he figured it was easier than getting up at 4am to get the 4.45 train from here. True. He actually caught an earlier train (tight connection) at Crewe and arrived at Euston at 11, and so I went to sleep here in my comfortable bed.
12.16, the phone rang, but I was asleep and failed to answer it; I then realised what was going on and called him on his house phone, panicking that something bad had happened. No answer. Panicking even more I tried his mobile, but no answer. Imagining a hostage situation/last phonecall before the terrorists behead him type thing, I panicked and started crying. My mobile rang - it was DH, in a bad mood, locked out of his own house in London, wanting to know who had spare keys. Yes indeed, the key he was playing with in the garden was his own house key. (He had the key for the bolt lock, but not for the latch.)
OK, so answer to the above: spare key = 1 x handyman who DH had a row with on Friday (and anyway said handyman had claimed he had lost our key - that's another story). Friends S&K, who were...staying in a cottage in Snowdonia and had spent the day with us. Duh. Besides, it was midnight.
So I told DH to try next door - nothing doing, and anyway it was really too late to call on anyone. (Fair enough.) He couldn't break in because he had to get to Exeter crack of dawn the next day and couldn't sort out someone to fix a broken window; plus, he'd rowed with the handyman who lives down the road. I suggested he opened the bolt, then got a strong piece of plastic e.g. credit card and slipped the latch, burglar style. He told me to stop being stupid, nobody does that, and started wailing about only having a pair of pants in his bag (true) and having to sleep in chambers.
In the end, I suggested trying to get a locksmith, and he managed it; one came out around 1am, charged £200 (but wouldn't you?) and basically he got a strong piece of plastic (credit card) and slipped the lock, burglar style...indeed. (At that time of night DH could have got an actual burglar and that would have been free.)
AAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRGHHHHHHHHHHH!!!