There’s nothing quite like being woken up at 2am by the sound of the Lewisham constabulary crashing through your back garden.
Bleary-eyed, we staggered to the window to find out what the heck was causing all the noise, to discover a selection of plods milling around on the lawn. One was standing on our composting bin, attempting to vault over the fence into the public space next to it.
Shouting an inquiry from a second floor window isn’t the best way to get plod on side, especially after you’ve just dazzled them by turning on the garden light, but it turns out that they were in hot pursuit of a fugitive , who’d chose our garden as a brief hiding spot. He’d clearly moved on by the time the PCs and their puppies arrived, so the pride of the beat spent about half an hour milling around, while Lorna watched and I hid under the duvet, trying to get back to sleep.
Eventually, I succeeded. And then the foxes woke me up again at 4am.
I need to move.
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