Locked out a london tale

Just so you know, in the movies when the person in their nightclothes goes out to the porch and the door slams and they are suddenly on the street and locked out of the house in their night clothes and you say, "Oh that is so silly it would never happen..." Well, yesterday I opened the door to put out the recycling on the porch of the townhouse. I had Dexter in my arms for some reason, and stepped onto the porch to put the recycle bin on the stoop. A gust of wind came up and slammed the door shut. I felt a bit like the bloke in "Notting Hill" who was in his underwear in front of the press corps. Fortunately we weren't hiding Julia Roberts in the house, so no paparazzi.

Well, you can imagine my thoughts. Most of them expletives deleted...

I did get back in, after much ringing of bells and tossing small stones, yes, people really do resort to pebble throwing as well, to the window of my friend's guest room where her sister was still sleeping. (The jolly Bradford family is still on the Isle of Wight. ) She eventually woke up and came down to let me in. But standing on a stoop with a little white poodle while in my pajamas on a London street, I felt rather like a chicken waiting for plucking.

But I wasn't plucked, we did get back in and I thought, next time, someone else can put the recycle bin on the porch.