ON Thursday, we returned from a Mediterranean holiday, refreshed and broke, having seen many interesting sights and sites.
On Friday, the traffic lights at the end of our road malfunctioned. We saw the unusual sight of police directing traffic.
In the afternoon, a Land Rover lost its steering, collided with a house, fracturing a gas pipe before skidding into a telegraph pole and starting a fire.
Cue three fire engines, sundry police cars, the gas board and the electricity board vehicles.
We found ourselves inside a police cordon with a ring-side seat for the efforts to extricate the car and stop the gas leak, while a helicopter hovered overhead.
Then came the power cut for two hours, setting off our burglar alarm.
Finally, Bulmer Road returned to its usual torpor with only a hole in the road and some scorch marks on the walls to tell the tale.
Come Saturday morning, we heard a few motorcycles whose throaty roars greeted our uprising.
Mid-morning saw a procession of ancient steam engines clanking one after another down our road to the accompaniment of high pitched whistles.
No sooner had they trundled up the road than with a thunderous roar, a convoy of about 100 motorcycles, most of them Harley Davidsons, processed past our front door.
Sometimes life is like that. We search far and wide for satisfaction, answers, excitement and new experiences only to find them all there at our front doors, if only we care to look.