One of us (who shall remain unnamed) locked HIMself in the lower bathroom in the house this week.
While he was engaged in this pointless activity, I was cooking in the rustico. I was making two Christmas cakes and a Thai curry. Making my Christmas cake in September allows the fruit to vintage nicely before 25th December. The Thai curry was for a curry luncheon at a friend's house that day.
I had been at my cooking since 7.00am because the cake needed four hours to cook and we would need to leave at 11.30am for the luncheon.
At mid morning we had agreed to have our work finished by 11.00am to allow us to shower and prepare for the luncheon.
As usual, I was a little behind time so it wasn't until 11.15am that I looked at the clock and wondered why Stu hadn't come over from the house.
As I approached the house to investigate, I heard screams of the 'Catherine!' nature. They were pleading, desperate and very loud.
In his haste to re-hang the bathroom door which I had carefully restored, he had taken it from my 'paint workshop', secreted it to the bathroom, gently encouraged it onto its hinges and carefully closed it to check the fit to his frame.
Everything was perfect. It swung on its hinges perfectly. It closed perfectly. The room was warm and draught proof.
When he'd satisfied himself that yet another job had been done well, he had reached forward to open the door.
It was then that he'd realised the door wouldn't open.
When I finally found him in the bathroom, I received a volley of abuse because I hadn't heard him earlier through the six four-foot stone walls that separated us.
I wondered about his mental state. Surely, one should be grateful for a saviour, someone who frees one in times of entrapment. I walked away to allow him to 'get' the concept of gratitude. When I returned 3 minutes later, he was decidedly more humble.
He asked me to force the door. I felt like a cast member from a television police drama as I ran and crashed my whole body into the door.
It didn't budge.
I got a hammer from the toolbox and hammered around the lock where it seemed to be most stuck.
It didn't budge.
Eventually, we realised that the door latch had slipped into it's closed position and all we needed was the handle to open it. The handle was still in my 'paint workshop' so I dashed upstairs to get it. When I slid the smooth metal rod of the handle assembly into the hole in the door, it opened easily.