Behind Closed Doors

My bike had been making strange squeaking noises on the way home on Friday, so this morning I got it out and gave it a wash down and some lube on the critical junctures. As I was doing this, our downstairs neighbours Warren and (presumably) Mrs. Warren, a late-twenties or early-thirties couple, were getting ready to go out. Having loaded their MPV up to the gunnels they got in and drove off.

Less than a minute later they were back. Maybe they’d left the gas on.

Then a minute or so later they were back again (perhaps the iron had been on too?)

The third return trip had me wondering what was going on… In all they made five returns before finally apparently starting their journey in earnest, the last one to pick up what looked like a travel blanket (where are they going? The sun is shining brightly and the temperature is 24°C out there and still climbing! What on earth do they need a blanket for??)

It made me think of a comment a former boss of mine had once made; you never really know what’s happening in people’s lives.