First, many thanks to the lovely, hilarious, freakishly-wise-beyond-her-years Lizz, who covered for me whilst I was across the pond, and to Janiel, who covered for both of us when Lizz was ravaged by a cold and I by jet-lag. I feel certain we'll see more from Lizz in the future.
Ah, Wales - land of song and demon moths. That's right. Demon. Moths. One of them decided to camp out in my room. If I had any foresight whatsoever, I'd have snapped a pic of that moth. But trust me: it was big, it was black, and it was hairy. And it was perched in the shades of my window. Maybe I could stand to sleep with that thing over my head. If I left it alone, it would do the same for me, right?
I'll challenge gnomes, but I'm no good at moth wrangling. Fortunately, the guy down the hall was. Ron used a broom to herd the moth, which fluttered up into the attic, while I dashed downstairs to hide. But when he shut my door to keep the moth out, it locked automatically from the inside. Did I mention my bedroom was on the second floor?
The three of us in the house stood at the side door, staring at the rock wall surrounding our non-existent backyard. Someone was going to have to climb up. I've mentioned my severe lack of coordination, which extends to climbing. The wall wasn't close enough to the house to reach the roof. Not even a rickety coffee table topped with a folding chair would do.
Enter Anders. Once we called him, he had no trouble stepping onto the bathroom window sill from the outside and climbing up through the tree branches that brushed the roof (which, I was convinced, housed a whole colony of demon moths). He had the door unlocked in no time. Problem solved.
Until I shut my door. And it locked again.
Anders was gone by then. Now we stared at my door. We'd managed to separate the frame from the wall during our first attempts to get the door open. Could someone reach the lock by snaking an arm through the opening? Susan tried first, while Ron braced the door so it wouldn't squash her. Then I tried, wishing I had an extra joint between my elbow and my wrist, while Susan braced the door.
"I have a brick you can use," Ron called from down the hall.
Me: "To bang my head against?"
Susan: "To throw at the door?"
Me: "To squish the moth?"
Actually, optimistic Ron meant we could use the brick as a doorstop once we got the door open. After ten minutes of some impressive contortionist movements with my arm, the lock clicked. The door swung open, and Susan helped unpin my arm from the door frame. (Ron later nailed the frame back into place - "good as newish".) I had a wicked scratch on my arm, and even left evidence behind. No, I didn't murder anyone, although I wanted to by then. That's my blood on the wall.
So there you have it. It only took four of us to conquer the locked door. And the moth? I heard Ron encountered it again the next day. Only this time, he sent it to meet its maker.