Last night I was melting into the sofa, (with my bottle of fruit cider, Twirl and a packet of salt and vinegar) when a post on Facebook reminded me the clocks were to go back an hour at 2am. I say "reminded", but really you have to have known about a fact in the first place in order to be reminded? Anyway, my thinking followed this pathway:
1. Whoop whoop! One whole extra hour in bed. Count it (one...) and weep! Amazeballs. (Reaches for second bottle of cider. 2 bottles? This chick's crazy!)
2. The Bairn! How will he know? Shall I go and whisper in his shell-like whilst he slumbers "have a lie-in, lil un". No, because he is a BABY and I'd wake him, plus his concept of the English language is, frankly, minimal.
3. After some very difficult mathematical workings INSIDE MY HEAD, realise that The Bairn will thus awaken at around 5.30am (Booooo hiss). Return second cider to the fridge. Reluctantly turn in for bed early.
The reality?
5.30am - I awaken looking at the baby monitor thinking "hhhhhrrrrmmmmph, suppose the wee man will be rudely shouting at me soonly."
5.35am - two obese cats start yowling for food, scraping at the bedroom door. I hadn't even factored these fat b@stards into the clock-changing situation!
6.00am - still awake, Facebooking like a saddo (Aaaaah, George Takei - whattaguy!), while willing the cats to die... That's harsh - maybe just disappear... and hoping The Bairn doesn't wake yet.
6.45am "aaaahdadadada. Babadaba." The Bairn awakes! At his usual time despite the clock change! Wee genius. His mum, on the other hand is a c(l)ock. What a wasted opporchancity for a lie in?
6.53am The Other Half still snoring contentedly. "So I suppose I'll be the one getting up?" I unreasonably think to myself - having been social networking, and compiling shopping lists and checking my bank balance (bloody depressing if you must know) AND WRITING THIS BLOG awake in my pit for an hour and 23 minutes.
Welcome, British Winter Time!
No comments:
Post a Comment