Doris's Diary ...

[Kathryn & Laura]

Welcome to The world of Doris ... where life is never quite as straight-forward as she'd like it to be!

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As my 12 year old son (No. 3) and I reached the front door and tried to get in at 1.15am on New Year’s Day, it became apparent that my 21 year old son (No.1) had left his key in the door. And gone to bed. And the key was not able to be pushed through from the outside as it was slightly turned in the lock.

Banging the front door with my key, hoping to wake him, I worried I might break the glass. I didn’t much worry I might wake the neighbours. We then tried the attack from the rear – and could see the lights blazing in his bedroom. Was he seriously sleeping so heavily he couldn’t hear us, or had he had a seizure?? A mixture of fury and panic surged through my head. I put No. 3 on top of the wheelie bin and armed him with a plastic milk bottle weighted down with water. Sadly his overarm throw was not sufficiently strong and the milk bottle rolled down the roof and hit us both – more than once. I managed to hit the window by flinging it backwards over my head – but it rolled down the roof again, missed me, and fell in the bushes.

Then we got the ladder. I’m not entirely sure why I had custody of the enormous, double window-cleaner type ladder, or why we even had one to start with but nevertheless it has been worth its weight in gold for breaking and entering. Lugging it across the patio and leaning it drunkenly (the ladder, not me...) against the roof, I tried to remember how many glasses of champagne I had drunk. Threee, maybe four? That’s fine, I told myself. No.3 dutifully held the ladder as firmly as possible, as it slithered a little, and I commenced my ascent. Once onto the (pitched) roof, approximately 8’ of slanting tiles were between me and No.1’s window. I was quite scared, but strengthened by immense fury I climbed up and crawled across, praying that the huge crash I envisaged as I bounced off the roof and onto the lawn with broken bones was not about to happen, and that poor No.3 would be left, on the patio, frozen. Reaching the window I rapped on it with my knuckles – then with my door keys – very hard. Calling his name – very loudly – I could see through small gaps in the Venetian blind that there was no movement whatsoever, and thought briefly that he wasn’t there. I bashed that window and screamed at the top of my voice for what seemed like ages:

“No.1.... NO. 1 OPEN THE DOOR YOUR KEY’S IN IT AND WE CAN’T GET IN.....” ...finally, like a zombie rising from his coffin, I saw the outline of No.1 sit up. In shock, still asleep, and probably very drunk, he had no idea whatsoever where my voice was coming from. I continued to crack the window with the key and yelled till my throat was sore.

“GO DOWNSTAIRS AND OPEN THE DOOR YOU’VE LEFT YOUR F***ING KEY IN IT...” At last, I thought he woke up, and I began my descent, shouting to (the by now rather terrified) No.3 to hold the ladder as tightly as he could. Down I climbed, off the roof, onto the ladder, down the ladder and back round to the front door. Unfortunately, by the time I got there No.1 had fallen back to sleep.

Me: “GET DOWN HERE AND OPEN THE F***ING DOOR”
Him: “Go away I’m trying to sleep...”
Me: “DON’T YOU DARE GO TO SLEEP GET UP AND COME DOWN RIGHT NOW...”
Him: “What’s the matter...I’m very confused...I’m just trying to get some sleep...”
Me: “COME DOWN AND GET YOUR F***ING KEY OUT OF THE F**ING DOOR – WE ARE IN THE F***ING STREET AND CAN’T GET IN...” (in my best fish wife voice..top volume, no holds barred. Clearly he thought my voice was SO loud that I must already be in the house too, so why did I need him to open the door??)
Me, to No.3, also on the doorstep: “When he opens this door I’m going to kill him..”
Him: “Why are you shouting? What’s the matter? I’m really very confused now...”
Me: “OPEN THE DOOR NOW OR I’LL KILL YOU”
Me, as he opened the door: “GET OUT OF MY SIGHT!!!”

At this point, he flew back up the stairs, in just his boxers, long hair swinging about like dreadlocks and arms and legs flailing as he fell up the stairs in his haste to get away from me – the mad woman who burst through the door threatening to murder him and yelling that “we’ve been out there for 45 f***ing minutes and in the freezing cold and you’d locked the door and left your f**ing key in it and I can’t get mine in as yours in stuck and you wouldn’t wake up!”

In the morning, he woke at about 8.30am, and asked me if we’d had a good night. I told him it had been fine!