An injection of adrenalin

3am. My sleeping ears hear a noise downstairs that my brain interprets as someone trying to open the cloakroom door. Again.

Only this time they can't, because I've fitted locks.

I leap out of bed, put something on (unlike last time O_O), grab my trusty weapon (thanks, Paul!) and head downstairs, making as much noise as possible and turning lights on as I go.

I unlock the cloakroom door and fling it open, ready for a confrontation.

There's no-one there, and the new window is intact.

I check the kitchen and study. Nothing. I peer out to the back, and to the front. Nothing.

I return The Weapon to its resting place and climb back into bed. "Did you hear something?" Nikki asks.

5.20am. With adrenaline still coursing around my body, I check the clock for the fiftieth time in two hours.

6.20am. The alarm wakes me up.

12.45pm. A colleague with whom I'm lunching, and who has also been burgled recently, asks me how long the paranoia lasts. "At least six weeks," I tell him wrily.