Out of the FRYING PAN…
The first few times Donald’s new alarm system went off, every neighbour in the cul-de-sac stopped what they were doing. Three houses in the housing estate had recently been burgled. Nobody wanted to be next.
Lights turned on, heads appeared in windows, people went outside to investigate.
Even elderly Mrs Johnson emerged from Number Five in her pink dressing gown, wielding a frying pan.
That was nearly three weeks ago. Tonight as the all-too-familiar siren went off, Donald’s next-door neighbour George was in
