I awoke with a start this morning - the clock said 9am - and I was very late for work. And then I remembered that today is a sick day, and I burrowed deeper into the bedding.
Why is it that one's bed is always the wrong temperature when you clamber into it, but just perfect when the time to leave its embrace rolls around? I'm going to invent a device that can measure your body temperature half an hour before you dive between the sheets and warm the bed just so. I'd be wealthy beyond my wildest dreams.
Of course, the role of that device could also be filled by one's partner, spouse, or favourite pet. Or even a hot water bottle, I guess. But none of them would feature a delightful 'ping' noise or impressively pointless flashing blue and red LEDs.
My plans for sleeping in were sadly scuppered by the kindly wrinkled face of the cleaner. I'd forgotten today was her day.
She: "Sorry to wake you, dear. Only, I was going to take my grandchildren to EuroDisney, and your aunt said you'd been. Did you like it?"
Me: "Fuckoffandleavemealonecan'tyouseeI'masleep?"
She: "I'm sorry? I'm a little deaf, you see."
Me: (sighing, and swinging legs out of bed) "I've got some photos, would you like a look?"
She: "Oh, gosh! Er, no, maybe next week, yes?"
And with that she was gone, leaving only a faint odour of boiled cabbage behind her. It took me a good 5 minutes of bleary blinking to realise that her sudden departure might have been due to the unexpected sight of naked Newly. I'd chosen to eschew nightwear. Oops.
