I woke up late this morning, which is fairly unusual. Normally, I'm awake the second my alarm goes off, if not before. I think my new-found ability to sleep through the incessant beeping might just have something to do with sleeping in a bed for more than one consecutive night for the first time in two months.
However, I woke up late. I'd done a load of washing last night and took full advantage of the balcony with the clothesline at my new flat (rarely do you have a tumble dryer over here, for those of you State-side). I happily hung up my clothes and went to bed with the expectation of being able to wear some of them to work this morning.
So at about 7.07 (I usually leave around 7.20), I bolted out of bed, threw myself into the shower and furiously did everything necessary. I ran around, dropping things, managed to get moisturiser everywhere, and ran to the door to the balcony.
Which was locked.
Spotting a key in the bowl that holds the clothespins, I put in into the keyhole. It fits! Awesome!
I turn the key. Nothing happens.
Jiggle the handle. Nothing happens. Try turning while lifting the handle. Nothing. I then proceed to, for the next several minutes try everything I can think of to get the door open.
I'm swearing under by breath in despair - I wore the only thing that I didn't wash that I can wear to work yesterday, and there's no way that I can wear it two days in a row. I glance around.
There's a window. A window that might open enough despite the shelf on the wall outside that might allow me to get out.
So this morning, I started my day by climbing out a window in my flat in my fuzzy maroon bathrobe to get my clothes.
How do these things happen to me?!
Labels: life, london