This is crazy. Even for me.
I glance down at the dizzying expanse of garden far too many feet below.
My scarf snags on a metal strut; I cling on one-handed, swinging ape-like from the drainpipe.
"Mom – you can see your underwear from here."
"Thanks for that darling."
How did I get here? You may well ask.
It's just been the usual buzzing-around-like-a-bluebottle-in-a-jam-jar-day. You know what I mean: get us out of the house; work; shopping during lunch-break; work again; home to clear up breakfast and defrost dinner ingredients; school run; take Emma to ballet...
It all began when I couldn't find my keys.
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