Saturday, 31 October 2009
I was woken at 3.15 a.m. this morning by the sound of someone repeatedly moving crates of bottles (well, that's what it sounded like) in their back yard. Clink. Thump. Bang. Clink. Rattle. Clink. For at least five minutes, in a systematic way, loud enough and for long enough to make sure the neighbours were fully awake. Silly questions like "WTF? Why?" came to mind.
The only lights on were at that house (the one where Millie was exposed to some choice language not long ago) across and up from the back of my house - the back being where I choose to sleep, instead of in my beloved white attic at the front, because it's quieter there than facing the street, where shouting and roaring happens at any time throughout the night as drink-fuelled students roll home, their volume levels set to Raucous. Not that I'm moaning about that either, you understand.
After a while the mysterious bottle-bank racket stopped, but I was beyond sleep by now, so I got up and made a cup of tea. I sat at the kitchen table and read for a while, gradually joined by bemused little creatures who know it isn't really getting-up time, but hope that it might be breakfast or catflap-unlocking time, and eventually went back to bed at 7 for an hour. (I would tell you what highly entertaining book I was reading, but it's someone's Christmas present, and I don't want to spoil the surprise. I can read books so carefully that they remain pristine, so long as I can stop cats from clambering over them to get onto my knee.)
The bemused little creatures came with me, but two of them couldn't sleep either, and leap-frogged enthusiastically over and onto my head until it was time for us all to get up for the second time. I'm seriously underslept today. But I shan't moan. A Zen-like calm acceptance suffuses my very being.
Yesterday my phone had worked only intermittently. Today it doesn't work at all. Virgin Media, whose services have been decidedly poor for most of October, and whose accessibility to customers is even poorer, tell me that a technician will call out next Thursday. It's only Saturday today.
I'm not complaining though. I am not ranting. I am not encouraging my blood pressure or my voice to rise further. I am breathing deeply, trying not to clench my jaw, or think murderous thoughts. I am staying caaaaaalm.
But I am plotting my escape, to somewhere that is definitely not a university town, and where sorting the recycling might be seen as a daytime occupation. Efficient telephony, however, may be a wish too far. The little creatures and I are off for an early night now, to try to cram a few hours of sleep before the Hallowe'en parties rev up.
Posted by rachel at 20:57