Caught in the act

The afternoon before we were due to move out, there was a knock at the door. Our landlord – a lovely chap – had decided to be helpful and call round a day early for a cursory inspection, checking we’d not wrecked the place. (We hadn’t. The cat had done a fair amount of damage, mind, but he didn’t notice!)

We embarked on a little tour. Only, we were still in the final stages of packing. We walked into the bedroom: in full view  lay the box with Haron’s school ties and, erm, personal items of the buzzing variety.

Oh look! Here’s the spare bedroom: I dived through the door before him, pushing the freshly-made birch behind the top of a stack of boxes. It didn’t quite make it, the bundle sticking out at an odd angle throughout our conversation.

And yes, that’d be the wallpaper on my computer screen in the office. Indeed, it does appear to be a photograph of two naked girls lying face down on bunk beds in a run-down prison.

I’m not sure he noticed. But as he wished us well, I’m guessing he might have been wondering quite what we’d been up to in his property for these past seven years!