23 July 2005

Would you look at the time?

It’s the (very early) morning of my birthday (no singing required) and instead of being tucked up in bed sleeping until a civilised hour after which I am awoken by the clinking of glasses as Owen brings me pastries and bucks fizz in bed, I am up and about. Not by choice, I’ll have you know, but necessity - my sanity depends on it.

No, I’m not expecting an ageing-induced psychotic episode. I am escaping a symphony of snoring.

Having one person doing an impression of mating warthogs in one ear is mostly manageable (I do love you Owen, really). But having to cope with additional contributions from my mum (I love you too) and my brother (and you) in the two rooms downstairs like some bizarre kind of honking, spluttering, whistling Greek chorus is too much. If it were only the noise that might just be survivable, but the vibrations. They’re the real killer.

Yes, I know, at my age I probably indulge in some occasional ronflement myself. But I don’t wake myself (or anyone else for that matter!) doing it.

There’s nothing for it. I shall just have to sit here humming ‘Happy Birthday’ to myself and wait for the postman. Or perhaps I could go down the allotment and carry on edging…

Filed under: Mulch — Clare @ 4:48 am