Off for the nightly constitutional

Early morning and I'm on my way again. This is almost too easy.

I slip on my night vision goggles and check the state of the room. All soundly asleep. Gordon lies curled in the foetal position sucking his thumb. Dr Rob, having failed to make it as far as the bed, lies spreadeagled naked on the floor surrounded by empty cillet bang bottles. Jonny tosses and turns, mumbling about the moles again, "moles... moles... quickos will save me...." Mr Hair clutches the duvet around his neck, his rapid eye movements tell me that he is having a vivid dream, the tent-pole which props up the middle of his bedclothes tells me what it's about.

And tonight I don't even have to worry about Mike being up late. Not since we bound and gagged him and hung him upside-down in my kitbag in the corner of the room for getting away that whole "posting the BBC auto-reply" thing.

I exit the bedroom quietly and stop for a moment to ensure there is no movement in the house. From the girls bedroom I can hear the delicate girl noises. I peer around the door to ensure they are all there, and see Zoe, her tiara on the nightstand, quickos clutched tightly to her breast and a tear of joy trickling down her cheek. I turn and make my way quickly to the patio doors.

Making hardly a sound I slip outside, delighting in my own cleverness. This is all just too easy. Like taking candy from a baby. Just a few steps take me across to the.......

!!!!! SPLASH !!!!!

Where the #$!@ did this &#$%ing swimming pool suddenly appear from!!!!!!