Craic On

There are lots of apples falling off the tree in next doors garden. There is an abundance of windfalls, in my garden, that the local wildlife like to avail themselves of. In my efforts to deter the marauding intruders with fur, tails and long yellow teeth, I have just been out to pick up the rotten fruit and put them out for tomorrows compost collection. I have a little trick to keep the side gate propped open while I nip out to the compost bag. It has never failed me. It has never failed me until today. I turned around, from the compost bag, in time to see the gate slam. Three years ago, I was burgled. In my efforts to deter marauding intruders of the two-legged variety, I fitted a gate with a security lock that is operated by a key pad. It was not enough to keep my eighty-year-old uncle the monk from breaking and entering but it has just proved sufficient to the task of keeping me out of my own garden. Finding myself locked out, I had to dredge up the code from the depths of my extremely addled bra