Oh dear...

Oh dear…

Rory and I were pottering around the kitchen.  I stepped outside the back door to pop some rubbish in the bin. And then I heard it. The slam of the patio door.  The faulty patio door which Rory likes to pull open with the bolt at the bottom and escape into the garden whenever he can.  I knew even before I tried to open it that the lock had jammed.  Rory was inside laughing and slapping the window and I was outside with my pyjama top and no bra on. Of course I was.

Nononononononono, this cannot be happening. I desperately tried to keep calm whilst my life went into slow motion. “Come on Muffin.  Pop the lock up.  Let Mummy in. Pleeeeeease”. Shit.  What am I going to do? I had no phone.  I wanted to stay where I could see him but I needed to get help.  I ran down the side of the house and out on to the main road.  I saw a man across the road and screamed “Excuse me. Excuse me. EXCUSE ME”. He ignored me. Must have thought I was a lunatic.  But my shouting made a lady from across the road come to her window. I beckoned her out and she came to the door with a small boy in just his nappy and vest (clearly in the middle of dressing him).  “Please help me.  My little boy is trapped in the house.  He’s only one” by this point I was hysterical.  And desperate to get back to the house so I could see him through the glass.  She gave me her phone and I dialled 999.  There was no other option.  They weren’t keen to send the fire brigade.  Asked me if I could not just break a window myself.  Seriously!!! It’s double glazed and I wouldn’t have a clue how to do it without injuring myself.  She reluctantly sent them and within a few minutes 6 firefighters piled into the garden.  Rory thought this was fabulous.  They tried the prise open the door from the bottom. No. We looked at which windows would be easiest to break. None.  And then we thought the front door looked like it might be quite simple to kick in (reassuring!). So the boys gave it a few boots and hey presto. We were in! Rory was scooped up by a lovely firefighter and given a cuddle and passed to Mummy.

The lady across the road is called Elizabeth.  Her Grandson is called Glen and I had never spoken to them in my life, yet they helped me when I needed it.  That little boy ran about my garden in nothing but a nappy and his vest  until we rescued Rory and was as good as gold.   I popped over later with some flowers for Elizabeth and a toy for Glen. A Fireman Sam toy obviously!