A new ventilation system, hooray!

My mother babysat last night, so I could go to Book Club. (Bee Season, since you ask.) I was flying around like a mad thing printing out reading guides, brushing children's teeth, taking photos (I'll tell you about that another time) and panicking because my lift was arriving NOW when Mother Broke The Door.

*sigh*

The rear patio door, which is very up-to-the-minute, hermetically draught-proof and features a veritable host of safety features closes left side first, then right. Each door is locked by turning the handle up. No fuss, no muss.

A-HA! But back when my folks had their up-to-the-minute, hermetically draught-proof and featuring a veritable host of safety features patio doors installed, the door lock mechanism hadn't been invented yet. Oh no, you had to slide a metal tongue up the inside edge of the door into the jamb. Basically a fancy, countersunk bolt. Which is what my mother did - she slid the locking plate BY HAND. On the right-hand door.

Can I get it down again? Can I hell.

To the children's over-arching exitement, I dragged Peter (the bloke giving me a lift. Pay attention.) inside, thinking that with his (tall, blond, policeman) muscles he would put a lot more wellie behind the fork which was my chosen tool of attack. I mean door-mending. Obviously. Several barked knuckles later, and the entire contents of my toolbox dismissed as inadequate, we left.

When I got back, Mother had bandaged the door. Bless her, the only thing she could find to secure the flapping left hand door was Sid's bandage. (Which is her current toy of choice. Thank goodness she has the memory span of a goldfish with ADD.) (Sid, not my mother.) (Although . . .)

But there is still a gaping gap instead of a closed door, and in spite of keeping the curtains over the door drawn, (and therefore having to keep the kitchen lights on) it's getting pretty chilly in here. The door company won't come out until tomorrow afternoon - what's the betting they will leave five minutes before Jeremy gets back, and I will have had to write them a FAT CHEQUE for doing something Jeremy could have done in his sleep.