I remember a number of days with extremely dense fogs,in which i could not see my hand held out in front of my face. On one of these occasions,i went out to the garden gate of my house,to put out empty milk bottles for the milkman to collect next morning,After groping my way to the gate,i put the empty milk bottles on the pavement outside,then stood silently for a few moments in the cold,deserted,soundless road.In order to enjoy this strange atmosphere to the full,I took a few steps into the centre of the road and lay down full length on the ground.When I had appreciated the situation to the full, I got up and walked back towards my garedn gate. But where was it ? I could not find the gate; I could not find my garden; I could not find my own house, my own front door! The fog hid everything, even the light of the street lamps.
I began to feel cold and frightened. I groped my way along a wall. I was moving blindly. Suddenly the wall stopped. I had come to an opening. Perhaps it was my own gate. I entered cautiously, and found myself on a garden path. I breathed a sigh of relief. I had found my way home after all! I cautiously climbed the stone steps to the front door, but found it shut and locked. It must have shut and locked itself while I was lying in the middle of the road, I thought. I decided to go to the house of a friend who lived only two doors away. He always stayed up late and would let me sleep in his house. I went to the gate and then got down on my hands and knees and started crawling cautiously along beside the wall. I was suddenly stopped by a very bright light and a loud voice,”What do you think you’re doing?” It belonged to a big policeman shining a bright torch on my face.
I tried my best to explain my situation to him and told him that the number of my house was 175. But he told me that there was no number 175 in that street. It turned out that I was in a street two blocks away from where I lived. No wonder I had found the front door locked!