My big night out: I was hungover and locked in an apartment. The only escape? A high, narrow window ledge

"Winter 1995: I wake to the sound of a vacuum cleaner repeatedly striking the door near my head. I'm in a small bed in a tiny room. Wherever I am, I'm hungover. I remember: I'm in Paris, after a big night out. Just the one night I'd arrived on the Eurostar the previous afternoon with a friend. We'd gone out for drinks, then to a cool restaurant, then somewhere to drink more."

"The rest was blurry, but we ended up back at this apartment owned by the company my friend worked for drinking neat vodka until my friend remembered he was catching an early plane to New York. The last thing he'd said as I retreated to the little bedroom off the kitchen was something about the weekly cleaner coming in first thing."

I wake to a vacuum cleaner striking the door and realise I am hungover in Paris after a big night out. My friend left early, mentioning a weekly cleaner, and the cleaner locked the apartment from the outside. The door has a central security lock that drives bolts into the frame at top, bottom and both sides, so a key is required. My train is not until afternoon, so I take a long bath, drink two black coffees and snoop through the cupboards. The telephone is not connected, and I methodically try every key from a bowl on the table multiple times while looking out over Paris from four floors up.

Read at www.theguardian.com