So here’s some background to the story: The Missus’s grandmother hasn’t been very well lately, had a fall, broke her arm, spent time in hospital. Unfortunately, my father-in-law didn’t see fit to stay with her over the Christmas period and left her alone in her flat, with carers coming throughout the day to help with her day-to-day care. She has a personal alarm so that if anything happens she can contact us. Our phone number is at the top of the list as we are about a 30-minute drive away from her. She is 88-years-old and increasingly confused.

So at 2:30am the telephone rings and I already know that the panic button has been pressed, even before I pick up the phone. I am actually in the process of turning in for the night after setting my video to upload onto YouTube overnight (something I do all the time). So I answer the phone – it is the police and I dutifully wake The Missus and hand her the phone. The message is that grandmother has had a fall, but she’s OK, but pressed the panic button. They want someone to come over to lock up as they don’t have a key.

OK – says The Missus, give me 30 minutes. Before she sets off, she gives her parents a call to inform them, but they already know. In fact, they know more than we do, because the police have not been entirely truthful with their account. They have smashed their way into the property, all the locks are damaged and they need someone there to mind grandmother. The Missus heads out into the night and calls me later to get her numbers of locksmiths to fix the damage.

I have a terrible night’s sleep – it is disjointed and I wake every hour or so and then rise at 7.50am. My reward shall be a bacon sandwich, a cup of earl grey, but that doesn’t suffice, a small bowl of cereal to finish it. This is not my normal breakfast, but the lack of sleep has made me hungry enough to want to eat a small pit pony between two slices of bread.

Another phone call from The Missus – everything’s fixed for now and father-in-law has arrived to take up care duties. Apparently, someone at social services or what-not had written down our number incorrectly and The Missus’s brother (who was second on the list) completely ignored the phonecall from the police. If they had our number down correctly, or if brother-in-law had answered, it would be likely that the police wouldn’t have smashed their way into the flat with the same vigour they use for those morning raids on cannabis farms and South London drug dens.

The kids are raised from their beds, fed and watered and The Missus returns. Both of us are a little burnt out and it’s not even 10 o’clock.

Welcome to 2013 – I am sure things are going to ease off from now on? Right? Eh?

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