It's all Don West's fault! When I opened door of my upstairs flat, into the hall, the other week the mail had come. Amongst arrivals was West's latest collection of fan writing 'Deliverance' (send 8.50ukp to 17 Carlisle St., West Yorkshire, BD21 4PX immediately, and if you are overseas you'd better include plenty for the postage as well!). Now we have been waiting 3+ years for this, so I was pretty pleased to get it and opened it up to peruse there and then. Having skimmed through collection of articles therein I proceeded to go out of front door into the street, neglecting to remember that my keys were still in inside door.

"Shit!", I thought straight away, as woman who lives in flat underneath me was away for couple of days. What I do usually under these circumstances is to go around to alley at back of my flat, go into her garden, shin up a drainpipe and get in through my bathroom window if it is open. Last time this had happened, this is what I'd done, with exception that bathroom window was closed, as I knew it was now, and I'd had to break it. Had only just had that fixed, it cost me over 50 quid, so wasn't in any rush to do this again.

Went around back and noticed downstairs bathroom window was open. I have reasonable relationship with Jean, who lives downstairs, I let her use my washing machine recently, and knew that somewhere in her flat was a front door key on set I gave her to get into my flat when I was away and in case some disaster happened. I also knew she keeps a key to door to her flat in a chest in the hall, so could get back into her place to return key, and where she keeps key to her back door.

After some 'umming and ahing' I thought, "Blow it!", and with some difficulty climbed in through her bathroom window. It felt strange being in somebody else's living space without their permission, and I felt really guilty. Luckily I found key to front door almost immediately and opened her back door, into the garden, to go around to the front. As I got to the back gate I could see a flashing blue light, "Oh Christ!", I thought, "Bet that's the police".

What do you know?, I was right, and as soon as I left back gate was grabbed by burly constable who said, "You're under arrest for burglary".

"I live here", I replied, and proceeded to explain how I'd locked myself out and had entered Jean's flat.

"How long have you lived here?", and "Don't your neighbours know you?", he questioned. To which I relied 8 years, and explained that flat is on busy main road and while slightly knowing people on either side don't speak to them much. Obviously some concerned citizen had seen my legs disappearing through window and rung police.

Eventually, he still holding onto me as I clutched key, and a slight, freckled lady constable returned, through back door, into Jean's flat. I was getting a bit concerned by this time, and made polite conversation with policewoman while first chap looked around, presumably to check that I not broken anything. Think they were starting to believe me by now, and when we got back into alley he asked me to give key to another officer who would go around to front to open front door.

We watched window of my back bedroom until this guy appeared and smiled at us. Basically it was all don't do it again from this point on, they took my name and Jean's, asked if I'd been in trouble with them before (no!), and then both panda cars (one at each end of alley, I 'spose to catch me if I'd run away) pissed off, mind you not before one officer asked me, presumably because of my accent which gets stronger when I'm upset, which part of Wales I was from.

When I got around to front there was police van parked outside and about 5 policemen kicking about in the hall. I apologised for being a nuisance, they cleared off, I relocked up Jean's flat, and went to supermarket which is where I was going in the first place. My only worry was whether to tell Jean that I, and two police officers, had been in her flat while she was away. I even rang a friend of mine, who's in the police, to ask if they were likely to get in touch with her. Apparently not, I was told, so decided to let 'sleeping dogs lie'.

Finally, couple of days later, shortly after she returned from travels, Jean rang on my doorbell. "Had I heard any funny noises while she was away, because there was a footprint in her bath?", she enquired. I thought about it for couple of seconds, but then decided to come clean, and told her the full story. Luckily she saw the funny side, and was alright about it, "Phew!", I thought. That's it.

29/9/95