Why me?

 We had an event here last night, as the sun set, as the rain lashed the cottage, as the wind howled lifting the roof slates, yours truly allowed his beautiful and oh so patient wife to do the last perimeter check before lights out. I bravely sat watching the TV, ready to spring into action should I be required. Well I was, for one of those events that begs the question, why me?
Rewind a few weeks and the key to the annex broke in the lock, so being clever I used pliers to turn the stubby end in the lock until paying a massive amount of money for two shiny new keys. Things were all well and good until last night when MBAOSPW asks for the key, me having seen it on the windowsill obliged by pointing. Dripping wet she returns to the wild weather and seconds later returns with a I cant open the door statement. My chance to be the knight and rescue a distressed somewhat soggy damsel is taken and soon I am out in the elements in shorts and t shirt to open sesame the door. Except it wont. The key wont go in as it should and the door, with two baffled Berners the other side blocked their exit, and supper. Risking hypothermia I continue to press hiome the attack of the key only to be beaten back by the obstinate lock. Darkness was falling, so was my core temperature so a hasty retreat to the cottage for clothing, headtorch and assorted tools which amounted to a dinner knife, half a wire stretcher, a tin of tomatoes and two 9 inch nails. Thus with this eclectic mix confidence was high that the door would soon be open. Except it wasn't. After an almighty struggle with several pleadings/promises of sacrifices to the small god of locks nothing would persuade the key to fit, in fact something, in the torchlight and tomato juice looked distinctly odd (note to readers, never use canned foodstuffs as a hammer)
The key was the wrong shape the fit in the key hole, no matter how hard I hit it. But it was the key cut by the nice key cutter. The brain cell was searched, recall faintly had an image of key last used being in jacket pocket, back to cottage and sure enough key in jacket fitted lock like, er... a key in a lock. I took out the key that fitted and compared it to the one who didn't. The one that didn't fit was cut the same, on the same day, by the same man, against the same broken key as a pattern, with one crucial difference. One was a mirror image of the other. And now the right reflection would not turn which was probably my fault for hitting it. Brute force failed to turn the key but did manage to break it in a similar place to the last one that broke. With why me firmly on my mind I then set about opening the door in the style of a burglar, albeit one with two 9 inch nails, half a wire stretcher, a leaky tin of tomatoes and a dinner knife.
The actual description of how the door was finally opened will remain secret for the sake of national security but open it did, without damage (much) and no injury to man nor beast. The two berners rescued I slept on the matter until morning light and worse weather.

Yours truly bought a new lock, it came with two nice shiny keys that both fitted and the door open and closes, locks, like no-one spent 2 hours of his precious life the night before breaking in. The really really really annoying thing about the whole episode, apart from the bollock brain who cut the wrong key, was that the replacement lock with two keys cost 33% less than the cost of the two replacement keys that caused this whole mess.