Flashing and Overexposure

So –all went well on Thursday. JLS were perfect gentlemen. They petted the dogs, chatted to the kids, made nice comments about the house – they even complimented B on his portraits. 

The outfit stood up well. I only wish I’d kept the dress on in bed that night instead of stepping out of it at midnight and leaving it crumpled on the bedroom floor. I was woken up at, as it turns out 3.30am, by the unmistakable sound of the wheely bins being manhandled at the front of the house. B has cunningly positioned them across the doors to the bike shed to act as an early warning system in case any c*** tries to break in with a screw driver again. Our bedroom window is right at the top of the house and looks out onto the street. In order to see directly down into the front garden and the bike shed you have to open the curtains and stand on the pillows, very close to the glass. See pic.

In the orangey gloom of the street lights I could make out two shadowy figures and the doors of the bike shed were open! ‘Brian, wake up! Someone’s nicking the bikes!’ I threw open the sash window and leant out. One of the youths was on a bike and about to make off down the street. 
‘Put that bike back in the shed this minute or I’ll dial 999’ I yelled. 
As the words left my mouth I remember thinking how ridiculous I sounded - like Margo from The Good Life. And as if a bike thief would obediently hop off the bike and sheepishly put it back; he’d be in Lower Clapton before I had a chance to get my bra on. 

‘Oh it’s you!’ I gasped and collapsed on the bed laughing as John and his mate Lucas look up to the window incredulously and lights come on in the houses opposite.