I’d like to talk about a rather embarrassing incident that took place a couple of years ago, right in the middle of winter. At the time, I was living in a rented flat on the second floor of a converted Victorian house in Manchester.
It happened on a bitterly cold Tuesday morning. I was in a massive rush to get to work because my alarm hadn't gone off, so I hastily grabbed my coat and dashed out of the front door. The second the heavy latch clicked shut behind me, a sudden wave of dread washed over me. I patted my pockets and realised immediately that my keys, along with my mobile phone and wallet, were still sitting on the hallway table. To make matters worse, I was only wearing thin trousers and light shoes, and the communal hallway downstairs was freezing.
Initially, I felt completely helpless because none of my neighbours seemed to be at home, and I couldn't simply force the sturdy wooden door open. After waiting anxiously in the chilly entrance for about half an hour, the ground-floor tenant returned from walking his dog. He was incredibly sympathetic and let me use his landline to contact a local locksmith. It took almost an hour for the technician to arrive, though once he got there, he managed to pick the lock in less than two minutes.
All in all, I felt utterly mortified by my own absent-mindedness, particularly when I had to settle a rather hefty emergency call-out fee. It was genuinely stressful whilst it was happening, but it proved to be a valuable wake-up call. Ever since that day, I've kept a spare key hidden with a trustworthy friend nearby.