2.15 am. I’m woken by the sound of rain thundering on the roof and the OH shouting ‘Did you remember to shut the car windows?’ No, I hadn’t, so as I was the one who’d been out in the car earlier it was only fair thaat it was me who had to dash out in the dark and the wet in my dressing gown… I also had to shut the bathroom velux window even though it wasn’t me who’d opened it.
Get back into bed, distinctly damp around the edges, and try to get back to sleep. This is going to be tricky as I’m a natural insomniac and once woken stay awake for hours.
4.30 am. Have finally dropped off when OH jerks upright screaming because of cramp. The inventive swearing which follows lasts much longer than the cramp did and relieves his feelings enough for him to be able to lie down and start snoring. He claims he lay awake for hours. I attempt to sleep and have very strange dreams as a result.
7.20 am. Second daughter leaves to go to work. This is not unusual. She is always very quiet.
7.22 am. Flynn decides to voice his protest at being left behind by his mistress and tunes up. He has a fine, and loud, tenor. Desi, possessor of an equally fine warbling contralto, joins in. A concert for two Dalmatians performing ‘O Sole Mio’, ‘When Will I Ever see You Again’ and ‘How Much Is That Doggy in the Window?’ follows.
7.23 am. I am contemplating Dalmatian-icide. Only the thought of what the daughter might say if she comes back to find her dog in little bits stops me from leaping out of bed. And the fact that I’m just too short of sleep to move.
7.27 am. The concert stops.
7.29 am. It starts again. Luckily not for long as the dogs have run out of puff.
7.45 am. One of the cats sits outside the kitchen window. This happens most mornings. Today the dogs take exception. Loudly.
7.47 am. I give up any hope of having a semblance of enough sleep and decide to rely on strong coffee infusions during the day. The dogs rush up with such pleased smiles at seeing me, at last, that I’m almost incapable of telling them off.
So there you have it. I was planning on writing something witty and erudite – one can dream, but the brain is much too fuzzy from lack of sleep. Or is that just age? It’s nice to have a proper excuse for once anyway.
Though to be honest I’d rather have had an uninterrupted night.