Duvet!

The trauma has subsided and now I can share the experience. I'll even let you laugh.

Last Thursday was my last night in Damp Darlington. Some of my colleagues and I went out for tapas - hmmmmm - and a generally good night was had by all. I will not deny I had a couple of glasses of wine but it was only a couple. I had to do a full day's work the next day and I knew I'd be D-mob happy so didn't want to handicap myself further. I also had a 3 and a bit hour train journey to negotiate - including a section through London. With a significant amount of luggage this was not for the faint hearted so again I wanted to be as sparky as possible. Therefore I repeat - I did not have a lot to drink Why am I strenuously making this point? Because if I were inebriated then what follows may have been less ... shameful.

OK. Here we go.

So, we had a nice meal. I got home at a sensible time and thought I really ought to post my photo for the day. That done, I checked some last bits and pieces on the interweb and finished the last of my packing. Suitably wound down and nicely tired, I decided it was time for bed. I wanted to be sparky the next day. I had a lot to do. It was going to be a long day. I needed my beauty sleep.

As I pulled off my evening's attire, I realised that of course, I needed to use the bathroom. Why does that happen? You can be sat quite happily but the minute you stand up and move around, your bladder kicks in? I wandered to the bathroom in all my glorious naturalness. I had the flat to myself and the front door was locked. I wasn't about to scare anyone. Having made myself comfortable, I went back to my room. I pushed against the door and nothing. By nothing I mean it wouldn't open. Bollocks. All individual rooms have Yale locks on the door. The first thing I do when I get into my room is put the lock on the snick. It's habit. I don't want to be locked out. Except on Thursday night when I can only blame my head being distracted by my impending move, Uni, homework, last minute jobs blah blah blah and I was locked out.

Ok this is fine. I just need to ring security and get them to let me in. Except my phone was locked in my room. With my clothes. Bollocks. As already mentioned, I was alone in the flat so had no-one to help me. Bollocks. So picture the scene. Me, locked out of my room and naked. And then salvation caught my eye. Well actually it was fresh laundry that the domestics had left out for me so could change my sheets. For the sake of a couple of nights, I left the bed as it was which meant that I had spare laundry on the same side of the door as me. Coverage! The towels are useless. The minute you deviate from a bolt upright stance, the world becomes your gynaecologist. Not an option. However there was a duvet cover. A wide piece of material that would wrap around my body a couple of times and stop somewhere below the knees. (Remember where you heard about this first girls - next year in Milan you can tell your fellow fashionistas who started the "toga" look).

So now I'm covered. Kinda. I still need to contact security but at least I can leave my front door with some degree of pride. (Not alot I grant you but given the situation, anything was an improvement). I went across the corridor, took a deep breath and knocked on my heighbour's front door. Nothing. No answer. At 11.30 at night you'd have thought someone would be about but apparently not. I wasn't thrilled about waking my neighbours but this was an emergency and had the roles been reversed I'd have rung security for the poor unfortunate and then poured them a drink. However I was not to be so blessed. I went down a flight of stairs and tried 2 more flats. Still nothing. In fact this was true for all 5 flats in my building. No one wanted to help a damsel in distress. And the awful truth slowly dawned on me. I was going to have to go over to the hospital and find a phone. So, having checked the security of my duvet, I strode across the car park. I say "strode" in the hope of conjuring the image of a defiant woman who had control of the situation. In actual fact I picked my way carefully across the car park, punctuating every, bare-footed step with "ow" and a variety of expletives. However. I was now in the hospital. Sanctuary. I headed for A&E because I knew they were open and had a phone and they were nearest.

The woman on reception was obviously having a bad night. As I walked up to the desk, she took in my unusual attire and made some obvious, if incorrect, assumptions.

"Hi there" I smiled at her wanting her to be my friend and help me as swiftly as possible. "I wonder if you can help me. I live in accommodation across the way and I've managed to lock myself out of my flat. Would you be able to ring security and ask them to let me back in?" She looked at me with the well-honed withering look that only a seasoned receptionist can muster. "You're ... locked ... out?" by which she meant "You've been out having fun whilst I have to deal with people vomiting and exuding bodily fluids over me for a minimum wage. Often they are drunk, mentally unstable or both and I have to smile and be sympathetic to people who in the majority of cases have brought their current misfotune on themselves. You included". I smiled and tried again "Yeah I know. It was a really stupid thing to do but could you please find someone from security?" I was hoping for a drop of the milk of human kindness. What I got was curdled. However eventually she rang them and a couple of minutes later my knight in a high vis jacket came through the swing doors. He laughed, I chuckled good naturedly - yes I'm a silly girl aren't I but I'm getting a bit chilly now and the joke wore thin some time ago - and he went to find a key.

The various drunk, stoned and generally insane people had been watching this unfold with the relish that one normally only sees around the guillotine. Chuck in some knitting and we'd be back in Revolutionary France. Slightly irritated by their nosiness, I turned and looked at them in the eye. "It's OK I work here" I explained in a cheery up-beat tone now possible because I was nearly back home. They didn't seem convinced that all was OK. Annoyed by this collective judgement, I followed it with "In fact I look after your drugs". If that doesn''t scare the crap out of them then nothing will. That'll teach them. At this point my knight arrived with a grin and the keys. He even offered me his jacket. (Still no shoes but a lovely warm cosy jacket. It looked really sexy with my duvet).

We walked back to the flat and within a couple of minutes I was back in my room. Having ensured I had my keys and put the lock on the snick, my security hero went back to save another damsel.

I went to bed musing that if you're going to leave a place it's best to do it in style and there's nothing more stylish than a peach duvet cover.

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