Alarming

"Wake up!"

"Wha'?"

"The alarm's going off again!"

Sodding hell. That was the second time in as many hours. My other half dutifully went to check if there were any actual burglars, while I phoned the alarm receiving centre to let them know it had happened again.

It's the same room every time. When checked, nothing is there at all. No intruders, no bats, nothing. The doors and windows are securely closed. I think the problem lies within the detector unit itself. It has become self aware and is attempting to communicate with me via the medium of sleep deprivation.

The Big Sleep

Over the past few weekends I've been updating my staff and volunteers on what changes occurred in the house over the winter. As I demonstrated the new alarm system to one of my colleagues I was reminded of why we needed to upgrade it in the first place. Apart from the annoyance caused by repeated false alarms due to bat activity there was always a strong chance that I would sleep through it anyway. The old alarm system had one sounder, situated far away, over the front door, with many fire doors and walls between it and my bedroom.

One morning, not long after I first moved in, I came downstairs as usual, bleary-eyed and wild haired and went to punch in the deactivation code on the alarm panel.

"That's odd," I thought. "It says here, 'Alarm - Great Hall, 4.06am'".

I was confused. I hadn't heard the alarm. I went back upstairs and asked my husband if he'd heard anything during the night. He hadn't. Neither had my daughter.

I decided to shrug off this little mystery for the time being and head outside to the meeting that was scheduled on site, first thing. On my way to the door I spotted my mobile phone, which normally never leaves my side, but had been accidentally abandoned on the kitchen table at bedtime this once. Five missed calls. Bugger.

I stepped out into the early summer sunshine. Leaning on my gatepost was my Boss, rolling a fag.

"You sleep soundly, don't you?" he smiled.

"Um....yes, it seems I do! The alarm panel says the alarms went off last night."

"They did, yes. When the alarm company couldn't get hold of you, they phoned me."

"Shit! Sorry!"

"When I got down here, there were two policemen waiting at the gates. So, we all came down to see what the problem was."

"I never heard a thing!"

"Yeah, well we walked all round the house, shined the torch in the windows, and since we couldn't see you lying on the floor bleeding or anything we reckoned it must be a false alarm."

"Didn't the dog bark?"

"Nope, just wagged his tail and seemed happy to see us."

"Bloody freeloading mutt," I muttered.

"So, how much did you get through last night?"

"What? Ah. Oh. Hardly any. Honest. It's the sounder, it's not loud enough. I just slept through it all. We all did! I am so sorry you had to come down here at 4.30 in the morning."

"S'all right Doris, I was too hot at home in bed anyway."

He is truly a laid back man. My old boss, Agent Orange, would have given me a good few days of finger wagging and lecturing about how I really mustn't sleep through the alarms and how tired she was now, so if she suddenly just collapsed it would be all my fault, and so on and so forth. No wonder moving here felt like such a reward.

So, that is why we now have an alarm system with sounders galore. Strategically placed ones, designed to jerk me, flailing and mewling, into wakefulness, with their brain-buggering, ear-bleeding, impossible-to-ignore noise.

Shut That Door!

“Could you please make sure you keep the doors closed?”

“Yup, ok, no problem.”

“Only I know he looks old and slow, but he will run away if he gets the chance.”

“Yup, ok, no worries.”

“So please try to keep the door shut so he can’t get out.”

“Will do!”

I return to my office, having briefed the alarms engineers on the dog/door situation at some length. They are upgrading the entire system, so are in and out of every room in the building, including the domestic side, my accommodation. The house is in chaos, with colourful coils of wiring looped in each corner and fine plaster dust powdering the surfaces. Stepladders loiter menacingly in the shadows, while unfastened floorboards await their moment of slapstick glory.

I try to continue with the business of the day, but soon realise the futility of attempting to use the phone when the alarms engineers are drilling holes in the walls and testing the sounders at random intervals.

I head to the kitchen. The door has been left open! I scan the room quickly and, to my relief, the dog is still there. He is sprawled on the floor in apparent deep slumber. I close the door, firmly, noisily, point-makingly behind me.

Reassured of the dog's continued presence in the house , I go into the utility room, check the status of the laundry, and re-emerge. The kitchen door is open. The dog is gone. Where once I let a sleeping dog lie, an alarms engineer now stands.

Oh, for fuck's sake.

I stomp off, grumpily, to look for him. For an elderly canine, with a touch of arthritis, he can still outrun me for sport. He loves to stay just out of my immediate reach. It’s funnier that way.

I don’t catch him. He disappears over the horizon. I give up, return home, stomp grumpily through the house, solely to give the alarms engineers the opportunity of reading my eloquent body language, and discover the dog waiting to be let in at the back door.

I let him back into the kitchen and go to find the alarms engineers.

“Right, I’ve got the dog back. Please try to keep the doors closed from now on.”

“Yup, OK, no problem.”

Alarmed

With the return of the prodigal cat I was anticipating a glorious night of untroubled sleep.

All was deep and dreamy until I became dimly aware of my husband repeating the mysterious, and, frankly, annoying phrase “the alarms are going off” over and over again.

I was confused. In my dazed and dozy state I went into default mode, mumbling “yeah, yeah I know” whilst trying to fumble off my alarm clock. I squinted at the blue, glowing numerals. Four? Four in morning? What? Why alarm ring now? Why clock not shut up?

“No,” insisted my man, with commendable patience, “the security alarms!”

And, yes, now as I concentrated and gathered my faculties a little more, I could hear the incessant, maddening, long drawn out, spiralling whoop of the intruder alarm sounding in the distant reaches of the house.

Bugger bugger bum bum bollocks.

I lurched upright, and managed to get my dressing gown without falling over again. It is always best to investigate potential break-ins when wearing a purple candlewick dressing gown. If you tackle them in just your curry-stained t-shirt and big knickers you can be imprisoned for using unreasonable force. There is no justice.

So, having investigated every room for signs of intrusion, and finding none, I was left to conclude it was those sodding bats again.

The attic space is home to a thriving maternity roost of pipistrelle bats, though we also have long eared brown and lesser horseshoe bats. All of them like to flit about the Great Hall in the hours of darkness, pooping on the Precious Things and setting off the alarms. Which is all great fun for them, but less so for me, as each time the alarms go off the police are called out automatically. While they are talking to this purple dressing gown-clad, sleep-deprived woman who keeps shaking her fist at bats no one else can see, actual crimes are being perpetrated, unpoliced!

Oh well. Only a few more weeks and the bats will be hibernating for the winter. I could find out where and set off a car alarm or play the tuba at them at random intervals, to see how they like it, but they are a protected species, and, to be honest, it all seems like too much effort and they probably wouldn’t grasp the point I was making anyway.

In the meantime I shall count the days until the new, supposedly bat-proof, alarm system is installed.