Something Nasty in the Woodshed

Sitting at tea yesterday I was struck by the concern on the face of a friend.

“Has everybody finished eating,” she announced with an ominous tone. “I need to tell you about Hassan." 

This summer, while packing for her holidays, Amelia was met with a nasty surprise. Approaching her shed to look for her suitcase, she noticed a mysterious flash of gold through the crack of the door. On closer inspection she determined that what looked like an abandoned Olympic medal was in fact a Koran, on top of a bed, next to a box of Thornton’s biscuits. Unbeknownst to her, Amelia had a room mate and she named him Hassan.

Not knowing how long this unwanted housemate had been lodging with her and concerned about his uninterrupted view into her bedroom, Amelia called the police.

The policeman who sauntered over seemed unperturbed by the situation and suggested that Amelia wait for the intruder to return and politely ask him to leave. Looking to avoid confrontation, Amelia suggested that the policeman wait outside instead. He left a note.


By this point, Amelia had worked out that a phone that had gone missing from her bedside table was removed while the latch on her door was faulty. Despite having his handy Koran for moral guidance, Hassan had turned to a life of crime.

Eventually the Koran disappeared and Hassan has not been seen since. He has however left a token of his appreciation.

Amelia’s mother came to London with some lovely things to drop off at her house. Asking where to leave a bag including a white company dressing gown and other such delights, Amelia was adamant that it should not go in the shed as Hassan might come back and steal it. She therefore suggested that it should go in a smaller shed, next to Hassan’s lair. 

Amelia retrieved the bag, put it in her room and went back to shut the door to the smaller shed. That’s when she noticed the smell. The smaller shed was Hassan’s loo.

Horrified, Amelia realised that as well as using this room as an en suite urinal, Hassan had been defecating in doggie bags, tying them up tightly and throwing them in the hole.

How’s that for gratitude?