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Tramping Through The Mud

, , , , , | Related | November 28, 2018

(One Christmas, I visit my brother and his family. They live in the “sticks” in Yorkshire. My niece and her husband have recently moved into a house they bought a couple of miles from my brother. They are away, visiting her in-laws, but on Boxing Day my brother suggests we walk off the turkey and trimming by going to have a look at the house. My brother and I walk with the dog along a muddy footpath, peer through the downstairs windows of the house to see how the redecorating is going, go round the back to admire the view from the garden, and generally have a good look around. As we are walking back, my brother receives an agitated text from my niece:)

Niece: “Dad! Can you check on the property, urgently? The security cameras have just picked up two tramps trying to break in! I’ve called the police, but they say they will take hours to get there.”

(To be fair, neither my brother nor I were dressed out of a Barbour catalogue, and the dog was a nondescript “Heinz Varieties” mongrel. But how good were those security cameras, that my niece didn’t recognise her own dad?)

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