Our Second 999 Call

To mark the first time in our married life we were asleep on a Saturday night before mid-night, we were awoken around 2am by a highly excited, young chap drawing attention to the fact he and his friend had become caught in the elevator in our apartment block.

Owing to the cascade of expletives and insults, we initially put the excitement down to alcohol induced revelry on the access street down the road, but, no, it was in our apartment block - and quite close to our front door. Following the 999 call to the fire-ies we took up position behind the peep-hole in our front door waiting for action.

Now, in response to those who would have burst out, jimmy'ed the lift doors and rescued the poor souls: you generally don't do that in Manchester - unless you'd like to spend the rest of the night bailed up (back in the lift, in the lobby or back in your apartment), in hospital or both. Sad indictment of these parts of England; but still the best policy for staying safe.

After a short wait, the firefighter came, jimmy'ed the lift door and single-handedly lifted both lads up into our lift lobby. (That's why he's not afraid of answering 999 calls)

Jo and I returned to bed - and took the stairs on Sunday morning.