Who's there?

Isn’t it strange how something happens to wrong-foot us and then is so easily explained?

This morning I opened up the lounge and heard a tape in the video recorder rewinding. The remote control was isolated on the sofa, nothing could have triggered it.

For a split-second I wondered if there’d been an electrical surge, a ghost, a burglar, a something or other. And then it dawned on me. I’d gone to bed before the end of a film and set the recorder to do its stuff. The tape would have recorded for eight hours and then rewound.

Such a simple and mundane explanation, but not the first that sprung to mind – can a damsel feel any dafter?