chopper-ing hell

I was innocently lying in my bed last night.
All tucked up.
Pretty cosy, you know.
Husband was just beginning to snore, lying on his back, leg propped up on a pillow (recurring cricket injury; I don't need to spend time going over it any more than I need to - other than to say that it took a lot of charity for me to dig up some sympathy as this is 4th time he's twisted / popped / screwed his knee... - but you'll be relieved to know I found some near the surface of my small supply and his knee has been given enough attention to pass as sympathy).
My eyes were heavy after a nice day in Brighton. Mol & Liz breathing heavily and dreaming of rainbows and pink ponies.
All peace in the house.
When, suddenly FLASH! And, GRRRRRR-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-GRRRRRRRRR (that's the sound of a helicopter written down, if you need to use it for your own literary achievements you're free to contact my lawyers).
A bloody great helicopter swooped down OUTSIDE the window of my loft and shone its fucking cheeky torch right in to my bedroom. On my face!
Like. Hello? Do you see a criminal in this house of peace and synchronised snoring?
I think not! Get ye to the streets of Soho or Bangor, and get ye away from my window.
I sat up in bed as quick as a frogs-tongue catching a fly, and leapt out from under my warm duvet as fast as that new physics thing that says things can move faster than the speed of light, and I saw the helicopter turning away from the house and swooping over the houses of the adjacent roads, and then, coming to a hover over the Church at the top of the hill.
Huh? None of it made sense to me.
Anyway, whatever criminal was hiding out in the Church at the top of the hill, it/he/she stayed there for too long - and 40minutes later, with heaps more noise and flashing searchlights (meanwhile Husband snores gently through it all, in Ibuprofen La La Land I suspect), my head beginning to wonder how the helicopter intended to actually capture the crims in the Church (given it was a helicopter) - it just flew away. Vamos. Off it went.
Having woken the entire neighbourhood except for my immediate family, the chopper chopped off to shine its light in someone elses window.
Do you think helicopter pilots like freaking out nervous housewives at 11.45pm on a Sunday night?
I think they do.
Well the last laugh will be on them. Next time they come near my window, I'll be ready for 'em. In my pj's with Husband's crutches.
Trez menacing.
Or maybe I should just get an eyemask and earplugs...? Urban life. What a bore.

The net result is that today my hair looks like its been in a candyfloss machine and really this weather doesn't help.

And its only Monday.