Under Seige

“Crazazy Times” is a saying I’ve stolen from friend ‘C’ and now Fella and I use it as something of a catchphrase. It comes in handy because the last three days we have had crazazy times indeed in sunny Strumpetville.

It all began at around 8:30 on Tuesday morning when, arriving at work, I couldn’t help notice the foyer of my office building was full of naked people and police officers. It seems a company in my building does PR for Satan, otherwise known as a company that generates electricity from *gasp* coal. The situation progressed until the police barricaded us inside, and the nudists outside, for several hours. It was like some bizarre erotic zombie flick. Now, I rarely let anything – even a naked man – get between me and food so as lunchtime came and went and the hordes of econudists failed to disperse my mild amusement turned into rather grim satisfaction that it was in fact a rather cold and rainy day.

On Wednesday evening we went with some of my colleagues to try and see Mock the Week being filmed at the BBC but after queuing for an hour in continuous rain we failed to get in because there were already too many guests so instead Fella and I headed home and had an early night. All to the good. Except at 5:30 this morning the door was kicked in by armed police who wanted to use my house as a conduit to get to the one whose garden backs onto mine, and which was at that time the centre of yet another siege. So there I was as dawn broke shepherding our boys in blue, armed to the teeth and in full body armour, past The Gardener’s erotic Greek statuary and nudey calendars, and toward the back fence…

In tribute to Fella’s not-morning-person status I must report his steadfast unconsciousness throughout the armed siege; indeed, apart from his somewhat sleepy and querulous demand to know what “all that banging was” earlier. I left him in bed and went to work. Thus requiring me to report his armed-siege related lateness (largely due to me not getting him out of bed) to his work colleagues.

Today’s highlight was the evacuation of my building in the early morning due not to more econudists, but due to a suspicious package. Which turned out to be a croissant.

I note as I write this it is a full moon, gentle reader. I make no further comment.