Last night, the temperature in Devon fell to -5C (that's 23F for the colonials). Naturally, it was yesterday that I managed to forget my keys and found myself locked out of my house come the evening.

That's OK, I think. C has a spare key. Except she's in London. As is the chap with his key. I sort it so that I can crash on a friend's sofa (her 5 year old girl's primary concern on hearing I was locked out in sub-zero temperatures was who would feed Sébastian). The chap smartly points out that the catsitter company has a key. So I call and leave a voice mail. The woman gets back to me and gives me a long set of instructions on how to find her flat. Given all I memorised was "well lit, past kalendar klub then a car hire place, big arch, double garage" and her flat number, it was pretty easy to find. It turns out she cycles everywhere, hence giving me instructions which make sense for pedestrians/cyclists.

In total, it was only two hours from realising I'd locked myself out to regaining access to my house. But two hours in sub zero temperature.

Still, it means I got some good frost-rimmed photos in the garden this morning.

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