Oh boy, oh boy! Somebody please remind me that I'm a woman-of-a-certain-age! I'd planned a harmless day starting with a duvet morning (without the duvet) and enjoying the fresh coolness. Well, that'd been my plan anyway.
We knew we'd be without power at some point today when there'd be somebody from the electricity company coming to change our meter. Nothing very exciting so I was even happier to stay cool upstairs reading Katie Fforde's, Paradise Fields. Like I say, harmless and out of the way. Nothing exciting there, right?
Wrong! The said somebody arrives but has to return to his van (I think that's the bit that changes everything). I take a little peek just to be sure it is the electricity guy, and can't believe what I see.
Jon Bon Jovi?
Downstairs? In my house? Getting tools out of his van? No way! But then comes the clincher - that little voice coming right back at me. Yes way!
Okay, I need to state here that it obviously wasn't the real JBJ, but as good a lookalike as I've ever seen and, most importantly, future hero inspiration...
Brain in writer's whirl (you've got to be flexible in this profession you know) I realise my duvet morning has flown right out of the window. I scurry around looking for something decent to throw on. Definitely not the miniscule shorts I wore yesterday, that's for sure. Jeans and strappy top later, I head for the stairs.
Only, I'm too late! Much too late. JBJ looks up from the bottom of the stairs where he's already busy working on the meter (which is on the wall above the downstairs window). What to do?
Before I can get my brain into gear I dart back out of sight, but not before I confirm that yes indeedy, JBJ really is potential hero material. Oh, boy! Now what? I don't want to disturb JBJ's tool kit that's sitting in the middle of the stairs. Nor do I want him to spot my 'professional' interest.
So, there I am for the next 20 mins. In a dark, hot and miniscule upstairs hallway, holding my breath and stuck. How many opportunities does a writer get for potential hero material turning up, albeit briefly, in her house? Plus, how many writers have a hubby who's also a writer with an eye for potential research material? He'll understand, it's a no-brainer.
I do come out of hiding long enough to thank JBJ for the fast (too fast!) job he's done with the electric meter, before following him into the lounge where hubby very kindly prolongs the visit by helping explain directions to JBJ's next job and the one after that.
Finally, the morning's research over, I'm left wondering whether I should have perhaps made myself more useful by offering to go with JBJ as his personal sat nav...