Friday 13th

My colleague, the one who prefers not to walk, is to some degree both physically and mentally hampered by his lifestyle choices; preferring to live on a diet of fried food and energy drinks.
This morning he hoped that I was not superstitious. I assured him that I am not.

Earlier this week it occurred to me that it might be prudent to invite a locksmith to my accommodation; Darth, who pretends that pigeon-loft responsibility is not his, has acquiesced and chosen, as a gesture of goodwill, to deal with the pigeon-loft conundrum himself. Bless him.
His Goblins of choice are due to attend on Monday for removal of pigeons, Guam [sic] and disinfection, all in a single day. Herculean!

I do not trust Darth farther than I can spit and so it occurred to me that I might have a lock fitted to the interior door between his access to the loft and my personal accommodation, wherein lie my scarce remaining personal treasures. And that is why I have recently researched reliable local locksmiths.
I discovered the delightful Tony; punctual, courteous, well-informed, proactive, tidy and downright helpful. He advised me about current safety regulations, why my original request was non-compliant, which solution would be compliant, the fact that my current escape-route is non-compliant, which product would render my current escape route compliant, and the fact that as a tenant, I would need to seek permission from my landlord before he would undertake any work request from me at this property. So I contacted the agent who interfaces between me and my landlord.
A bit of to-and-fro blah and my landlord agrees to finance the change of locks himself (I didn't request that, I was perfectly happy to finance it all myself and then supply keys to landlord and agent) but his proviso is that the agent's usual locksmith should be employed to undertake the task.
Hey-Ho! An apologetic call to Tony and a 5* Google review has smoothed that one out.

But then, in true Friday 13th spookiness, I popped out this evening to the convenience store next door. On my way out I met C from flat 10 on his way upstairs with his son, visiting for the weekend, both of whom had just entered the building via the only street door.
Less than ten minutes later I tried to get back in through that same door. No chance. The lock had experienced a catastrophic failure. God only knows how.

I hadn't taken my phone with me and so had to resort to knocking on street-level windows. Happily two flats had lights on and came out to help. M from below-ground tried his damnedest to open the door from inside – nothing doing, and then began calling locksmiths. I recommended Tony but he wasn't picking up. We all knew that it was Darth's responsibility but there was no chance he would pick up. Because M couldn't help me gain access, I went back round the corner and called again through L's open window. I could see him watching TV.
“Can I climb in through your window?”
“Sure!”
And so I dragged that blue pallet from the other side of the street and used it as a ladder to get in through L's window. Once inside, I tipped the pallet backwards, flat on its back, to mitigate temptation from ne'er-do-wells to use that as an easy route into L's place, which will surely make it difficult for cars to exit the street, but that is not really my priority.

At the moment I am two-and-a-half storeys above street level in a building with no physical means of escape. It is Friday 13th. I find this hilarious! Is it just me? I am acutely aware that for my colleague, this would be a death-trap, just as a shallow beach might be for a whale.

Oh, and the inertia-reel on my beloved Greek laptop-hamster also failed today. If anyone knows how to resolve this I will bury you in gold!