‘Ummmmmm….I’ve just done exactly what the sign tells you not to do.’

I turned round.

‘You’re joking, right? You mean the door’s locked?’

My husband nodded sheepishly.

We were staying in one of Tucson’s 5 star hotels nestling in the foothills of the Santa Catalina Mountains and had managed to lock ourselves out on our balcony. A small sticker on the glass door warned guests that the locks on the sliding doors were prone to slipping. Conscious of the late hour, I pulled my bath robe round me, feeling both stupid and vulnerable.

‘What the hell do we do now?’ I hissed.

In the stillness, we could hear voices and the clink of glasses coming from a couple of balconies over. Luckily for us there was a couple in the darkness. My husband called out and explained, rather embarrassed, what he had done. A man answered.

‘You’re the second lot tonight! We’ve already had to bail out some guys a couple of floors down. I was in a room on the top floor a couple of years’ ago, before they put the signs up, and managed to lock myself out. No one was around so had to climb down and did my back in. Still have trouble with it now. Should have sued. Damn doors. Crazy huh?’

We agreed.

‘I’ll go and call reception,’ came a female voice. ‘What room are you?’

She disappeared indoors to make the call while the man rambled on. Although we couldn’t see him, it was obvious from his slurred speech that he had been drinking. I hoped for his sake that he hadn’t raided the hotel mini bar, in a resort where a bottle of water cost $6. Maybe alcohol consumption had played any part in his previous hotel escapade? Finally, he paused as the woman returned.

‘They’re coming right up but we’ll wait to make sure they let you in.’

‘Where are you guys from?’ asked the man.

‘London,’ I replied. ‘England’. We’d already been mistaken for Canadians (’London, Ontario huh?’) a few days before when asked the same question.

‘I know a British guy in London. You might know him. John……no, James I think…surname’ s Lister or Lester or something…..works for some TV channel.’ It was nice to hear this guy living up to the stereotype, inebriated or not. ‘I’ve got his business card around somewhere. You should look him up.’

‘There are quite a few people in London.’ came the woman’s voice, sounding weary. I decided their sojourn on the balcony was most likely a way sobering him up or to keep him away from the others guests we could hear inside.

We made small talk for a few more minutes when finally a rather breathless handyman appeared at the glass, apologising for the inconvenience. Acutely aware of this unplanned intrusion (and my lack of clothing), I was relieved that we hadn’t left the room in a mess. He swiftly let us in and we wished our faceless friends a pleasant evening before heading inside.