Whether it’s the fact I feel like one today with a heavy cold, or the upcoming London Day, I’ve realised what it is about my new home that makes me mildly uneasy: it isn’t zombieproof.
Some people judge the comfort of their home on whether it’s got sea views, or the size of its kitchen, or the greenery in its garden. I use a different measure: if the streets were full of zombies, would you be safe in it?
Now I realise streets full of zombies aren’t that common an occurence in London. (Although I’m not so sure about Glasgow.) However, the principle holds. Zombies are really good at getting in through windows and small openings, and because they don’t feel pain they’d have no hesitation about squeezing through jagged gaps.
The house I’ve rented in is a big house with far too much glass on the ground floor. The door has glass in it; there’s a bay window; and at the back, the garden isn’t fully enclosed, meaning all a gang of zombies would have to do is scale various garages and neighbouring fences and they’re at the back doors (glass again) before you can find Milla Jovavich’s number. (Come to think of it, that’s a worthwhile endeavour even without zombies around.)
There’s also a lot of nook-and-cranny action goin’ on once you’re inside – so fighting your way up to the roof would be fraught with danger. An open staircase, lots of rooms, and various ingress/egress facilities available via rooves and drainpipes. Highly zombie-friendly. Not good at all.
A zombie-proof house, on the other hand (like my own place on the other side of London) feels much more secure. Uninterupted concrete wall at the back, no windows on the ground floor, and a secure front door and garage with deadbolts and locks up the wazoo. And none of this big winding staircase stuff: narrow spaces mean you could, in a pinch, take on the zombie hordes one by one rather than three abreast.
So there you have it: the reason I haven’t had many good nights’ sleep yet is that this house doesn’t pass the zombie test. It’s actually pretty sensible.