High Alert

My Other Half is a compulsive DIY freak and lately he has been purchasing all sorts of tools to assist him with his latest project. He gets everything sent in my name to Rickety Properties, because at his workplace everything goes missing amongst the general confusion of hotel guests, change of shifts and general all-round lack of security.

So I’m at the office and when I sign for yet another parcel, a rather heavy but fairly small box, wrapped in black bin liner-like material. I put it behind my chair and carried on with what I was doing.

Then Darren comes in. He sees the box and freezes: “What’s in that box”? Immediately he puts his hand together in FBI-agent-pointing-at-suspicious-package-with-gun style. He takes a couple of steps sideways, gun still held up to the side of his head. “It’s some DIY tool that my other half ordered”, I explain wearily. “I thought you had already gone off being a Spook?”.  Darren shakes his head: “No it’s my training, you see. When I’m faced with danger, it’s an automatic reflex, even if I’m no longer technically a Spook.” 

“Well there’s nothing to detonate this time, I’m afraid” I tell him.

And so we go back to work.

Comments

[Eve]

Good Lord, hasn't he shot himself in the foot yet?

[Terri]

I am in favor of any hobby that requires shopping for lots of equipment plus a really great case to hold it all.