The rules of Tier 4 were officially broken in our garden last night.

After watching a bit of detective drama and eventually getting everyone (mainly the hounds) to bed, I started nodding off. Then all heck broke loose. The dogs were barking, whining and running at the kitchen door. My heart raced. Was it a burglar? A crazed killer trying to find another pair of victims perhaps? (note to self: watch something calmer and less scary before bed)

I jumped out of the bed, mentally searching the rooms for some kind of weapon. Dear M was considerately slower to react, I must say – he is not, like me a featherlight sleep. I walked out of the bedroom and through the window saw… sheep. Many sheep. They were trotting over the patio, over the vegetable patch and out of the open gate (laziness on my part) straight into the blackcurrant field. Fifteen to twenty of them. I didn’t dare to count them in case I suddenly fell asleep on the stairs.

By this time the fierce house guards calmly returned to bed, as if nothing happened. I took to Facebook to alert anyone who would be bothered to look for their sheep at midnight. There was one response from a farmer’s daughter saying it might be theirs, but she doubted her father could be woken up. Farmers really sleep well!

In the morning I doubted a little if I dreamt it. But there were signs… Turns out, these reprobates live nearby and break out very often. It’s just that they’ve never visited here.

Well, they chose a midnight at full moon and were warned off by our werewolves. Let’s see if they come back.