And also let me back in, without a key. Because last night I walked out of my flat, and as soon as the Yale lock clicked closed, I knew: I didn’t have my keys on me.

I was off to see my father on his birthday, and I knew that either my mother or my sister had my spare keys, only they were — as are all spare keys — unfindable. After considering climbing up to my kitchen window on the first floor, and possible even tying a safety rope to the balcony above it, I gave in and just called a lock smith.

Who arrived this morning (saving me R200 from calling him out in the night), and now I’m back in my apartment. Yay!

Last night’s spare key debacle left me so cranky. I need to make some more sets and distribute them.