Locks, lockpicking, locksport, and an actual locksmith

I get locked out of my house quite a lot. By “I get locked out,” I mean that I contrive to accidentally lock myself out. By “quite a lot”, I probably mean it happens two or three or four times a year. Which is absolutely enough, thanks. (Maybe five times a year.) Anyway, the best part of a decade ago I got locked out of my house quite late at night, and the only locksmith who would come and help was from Newhaven, which was a fair distance away.

Hero! The locksmith’s name was Matt, and I am so happy I met him. Matt got into my house using a thin sheet of plastic, which is pretty alarming now I think about it, but while he worked, he also took the time to talk to me about his job, and I began to learn what a fascinating, generous, unusual person he is.

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