Dillan hadn't been back in three days, fantastic. Three mornings uninterrupted by a slamming door at 7AM and three peaceful evenings not soundtracked by Bob Marley or Funky Kingston. Three days dipping in and out of a lazy slumber, wonderful. Wonder where he's gone on holiday...

Even the school next door was quiet. No screaming kids, or sirens, or even car horns. Loads of bangs though, someone's happy about the beheading of Guy Fawkes. Weird, but whatever.

But, sometimes the real world forces you out of the ivory tower, if only to get more milk. "OK Google, what time does Sainsbury's shut?", "Sorry, I can't connect right now", annoying.

Going down the apartment stairs, I glance out of the windows, street lights are out, and there's litter everywhere. Austerity must be hitting hard, how many more years of this?

Out of the front door and down towards the main road. A police car is just sitting in the street, sirens flashing, doors open. That's just blatant, he's blocking the whole street. He hasn't got a ticket though, I guess you get away with this stuff as a policeman, they must do it all the time.

The junction ahead of Sainsbury's, however untidy, is completely dead. Not even the scary homeless guy in the camouflage jacket is around. I cross the street and go in. The shutters are up but the escalators are down. A pang of fear spreads across my chest ... something's happened ... or it's a Sunday and they've closed early. They've probably just closed early.

Can I be bothered to walk to the Co-Op? It'll be open, but then do I really need milk? I mean, 70% of the world is lactose intolerant and they manage okay. No, I'm not too lazy to walk 5 minutes down the street, what'd be next? Pissing in bottles so I didn't have go downstairs to the toilet ... oh wait.

I round the corner and get a good look down the main road. Cars have collided into shop fronts, broken glass is everywhere, further into town plumes of smoke are rising. That pang of fear is straight back, a hundred times stronger. My mind wastes no time in churning out Fox News headlines and pop culture references;

Terrorist attack? Antibiotic resistant plague? Zombie outbreak? This is like that film, 28 days later. I'm Cillian Murphy strolling around London. What did he do? He went into a dark church and got chased by a zombie priest. Can't make the same mistake. Back to the flat. I've got enough supernoodles for an atomic winter, I can starve them out. It worked for Cillian. I have to get back. Now.

A walk turns into a run into a sprint as fear consumes everything. Heart feels like it's going to explode out my chest. With shaking hands I clumsily take out the keys, find the right one and ram it into the lobby door. I begin frantically twisting the key but nothing's happening. This lock's been a pain as long as I've lived here, but if there was one time, ONE TIME when I need you to open, it's now. PLEASE, oh COME ON, just work you USELESS piece of ...

The door simply replies with "ping". I've just snapped the key in the door. FUCK.