It's evening, it's dark and it's cold. I'm sat at my computer playing an online game. Ever had that weird feeling that someone's there? That chill when the hair on the back of your neck stands up? That happens to me now. I don't believe in a sixth sense, so maybe I heard something that didn't properly register: but I am not alone. It's scary, but even so I'm hardly believing what is happening as I head to the door.
I open the front door, and there, inside my porch, stands a total stranger. Middle aged, slightly built, narrow face, short brownish hair. I stare at him, he looks at me. He hands me the free newspaper that's been on the floor of the porch since it was dropped there two hours ago. I'm in shock. He doesn't say anything, he leaves as I stand there gawping.
Have I finally met a member of my local enforcement team? Are they really capable of committing trespass? Or do their inspectors have a special vocation to gather up errant newspapers? I don't know, even now I don't know what to think. But I did get a good long look at him, an oh so very close look, so I'll know him if I see him again.
My porch is enclosed. You have to open a door to get inside it. And I never found anyone lurking in my porch before, and I haven't since. But surely it can't be a man from TV Licensing? They have been informed they have no right of access and have accepted this.
As I said before I just gawped. So I am not a man of action, and that inescapable conclusion depresses me. When I was a young man I wanted to be the tough guy. Nothing unusual in that. At the time, the martial arts were popular, so I joined a Karate club. A lot of people did that, but they'd usually quit after a few months. I stuck at it and I got my black belt. We'd travel down to Crystal Palace and compete in the Nationals. We'd lose. On the nights before the Nationals we'd practise Kata, our opponents would practise Kumite. We competed in the Kumite. I never became a tough guy, but I've met a few.
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