Saturday, 10 June 2017

I go to sleep...

So another week limps to an end.  

Since Wednesday night, I have managed to squeeze in around three whole hours of sleep. The first night's lack of snoozies was down to the pain I was in after Swing Dance Club, and meant that I was roaming the house looking for various pain relief lotions and potions. Turned out that everything was in son number two's bedroom, the one room which I am afraid to go into after the sun goes down as I am sure it harbours bacteria which could wipe out an entire country if put into the wrong hands.

After my sleepless night, Mrs S commented on my bloodshot eyes as I walked into work that morning.  By 11.00 she was offering me matchsticks, and it was with great relief that I headed home at 1.00 where I crashed onto the sofa with a trashy mag and a cup of tea.

And then it was election night.  Now I am not a particularly political person but for some reason I always stay up and watch the results as they come in.  It started with the election of Barrack Obama some years ago, and since then, I have armed myself with the remote control and a mug of tea and steeled myself for the unfolding dramas.  So there I am on Thursday night, banished to the dogs' bedroom.  I told someone at work yesterday that I went to this room as there is a television in there.  'Oh.  Do they like watching television then?'  Of course I then had to explain that this used to be daughter number two's bedroom, but as she has now moved out, the dogs have moved in.

As I waffled on about this, for some reason, I came out with the fact that 'the dogs prefer the radio anyway'.  I really don't help myself sometimes.

So back to Thursday night.  I don't know why they start the election results programmes so early on in the proceedings.  By 11.00 there were a couple of results, and then nothing but waffling by various pundits for the next two hours.  I dozed off and then woke up again around 3.00 when I watched the rest of what was unfolding.  The strange thing about being awake in the middle of the night is that I always feel hungry.  Actually, not just hungry, but ravenous.  I can normally quash this with a mug of tea and a digestive, but Thursday night demanded more.

Which explains why at 3.30am I was tucking into two slices of jammy toast with a wedge of cake on the side.  I had also considered some salami but decided it might be pushing things a little too far having that in bed.  Just my luck, the Gaviscon would have been in son number two's bedroom as well.  

At 7.00am as I was getting ready for work, I had to remind myself not to have any more breakfast and it was a very bleary eyed bird who wandered into Binland yesterday.  If you remember, yesterday was Master B's last day at work, and as I walked into my office, he thrust a box of chocolate muffins and some truffles under my nose.  'Help yourself to goodies', he said.

Breakfast?  What breakfast...

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