I think it's safe to say that I have not led a particularly boring life. Most people my age have not had invasive medical procedures, been threatened by a dangerously insane Swede, performed actual feats of magic or gotten into fights with old ladies at the gym. In fairness most of these experiences are hardly things I've sought out and many is the time that I have really hated the situation that has fallen into my lap. True they are usually hilarious in hindsight and hopefully the event of which I am about to speak will become one of them.

For those of you who know me well I don't really need to explain how I get to and from University on days that I have class. But for those of you who don't, strap in. It's going to be exciting. On days that I have class I dutifully load up my satchel, ensure that my fly is done up and then I walk. It's not a long walk, nor is it particularly difficult. There is a minor incline but once I had walked it a few times I feel I built up the stamina needed to get up it every day. The walk itself is not the subject of this little episode, rather it is the people I see.

I like to listen to music, it makes a walk easy and sometimes I pretend I'm Rocky only without all the pointless running and getting into shape. Music also cuts down on the amount of thinking I'm able to do when I walk to Uni so that, when I finally get into class, my head isn't full of the usual crap like "I wonder what would happen if I had laser vision but I couldn't control it." Another feature of music is that it cuts down on the awkward interaction I would usually have to have with the people that are out watering their gardens or washing their cars. Normally I could simply nod, smile and maybe mutter a 'good morning' or a 'garden looks lovely' and then pretend that the song I was listening to had reached a particularly dramatic crescendo and I could therefore be excused wanting to draw out any subsequent dialogue.

A few days ago I was making my way up to campus when I spotted an elderly lady walking out of her house and hacking vigorously away at some weeds. She looked up, spotted me and smiled. My earphones were in so I did my usual; nod, smile and then I made a perhaps fatal mistake. I waved. The old lady, perhaps mistaking this wave for some sort of secret handshake, started to gesture furiously at me. I was rather taken aback but as she continued to gesture I was able to work out that she was calling me over. Normal people would probably have a little alarm bell that would ring at this stage, warning them to simply pretend not to have seen her and continue along on their merry way. Sadly I don't.

I paused my music, took out my headphones, looked both ways, and crossed the road to where the lady was still gesticulating furiously. Immediately she began to grill me as to what I was doing walking along this stretch of road, why I had a satchel and how frequently did I take this route. All of these I answered as honestly as I could, bearing in mind that I was beginning to run late for class. I'm not convinced that my responses actually meant anything to her as she waved them aside and began a five minute monologue about how frustrating her neighbours were and their efforts to utterly sabotage her garden. Like any person raised to be polite I made the appropriate, "Oh I never", sorts of declarations. The sort that indicate you sympathise with the person but that's really where it ends. This was to be mistake number two as she clearly took these to be oaths of loyalty and began showing me all the vandalism around her property and finally extracted a promise from me to keep an eye out for any vandals messing with her trees. Readily I agreed and then made my excuses to leave, thinking that would be the end of that. Unfortunately, as I learned today, it was not.

While walking home from a productive few hours in the library I was spotted by the old lady and once again she furiously motioned at me to cross the road. With a sinking heart I did. When will I learn? It turns out the little old lady had sought legal advice from a friend who had told her she needed to catch the vandals in the act. She proceeded to drag me around her garden showing me hundreds of different cuts on her trees that, honestly, looked all alike and that she could have done herself along with a whole database of photographs of the various cuts. Then she told me all about her evil neighbours who were trying to drive her away and how they had poisoned her trees and were cutting them back. Halfheartedly, I asked why she didn't just report them to the local council and then her true madness was really revealed. While many believe in conspiracies as vast and varied as 9/11 being a hoax, Harold Holt being kidnapped by Soviets and Aliens secretly running the world, this little old lady had set her sights to a far more mediocre one. Namely that the local council was in league with her neighbour to get rid of her. I had unwittingly walked into the plot to an action-thriller except that instead of Bruce Willis and a pretty girl, I had an elderly lady who was probably a little bit senile. But oh how much worse it gets.

During this conversation the old lady had clearly decided I was to be her agent in the black, her silent partner, the ace in the hole. She didn't just want to complain, she wanted to recruit me into her invisible war. So invisible, in fact, that she was the only combatant. She asked me if I knew of any surveillance cameras that she could purchase and I, due to not being google, told her honestly that I did not. Though if I thought that was to be the end of it I was mistaken. The little old lady pulled out a Filofax (who even uses those anymore?) and asked me for my mobile number, so she could contact me once I had researched surveillance cameras for her (something I never agreed to do). This is the point I am most ashamed of. This moment. For when she asked me for my mobile number I couldn't just say no.

From day one I have had manners ruthlessly drilled into me to the point where, if someone were to stab me with a knife, I would probably apologise for inadvertently taking their knife with me. People may know me as sarcastic and sometimes rude but in social situations like this one my manners are the only experience I have to fall back on so when this little old lady asked me for my number I did the only thing I could. I gave it to her. Admittedly I had the presence of mind to give her my old number so, with any luck, I'll never hear from her again but she still managed to get me to write down not only her name, but all three of her mobile numbers and a blind system which would allow us to communicate without her neighbours finding out. Because, as she pointed out, they might open her mailbox and take any letters I leave for her.

Genuinely at this point I feel I have only two options, the first is to simply take part in this insane little war against her neighbours and the second is to fake my own death and then take a different route to University every day.

The really sad part about this story is that every single word of it is true.