I am having a distressing dream about shopping in a South African supermarket that doesn’t stock chocolate when I am awakened by a roar. It is not a lion, but The Husband has woken up to a mouse on the pillow, staring at him. Cue tumbling out of bed in a mass of mosquito net and trying to chase the little bastard (the mouse) round the room. The mouse is zig-zagging across the rafters like he’s on speed. It seems that in future we will have to hermetically seal the mosquito net to the bed before sleeping. They are still managing to steal the food without getting caught in the traps. Anyone out there want some supermice to do animal testing on?? Buyer to collect. Most welcome.
Having been woken by the mouse at some ridiculous hour, I stumble to the washroom in a state of disorientation. I can hear Presuming Ed. It’s not right. It takes me a few moments to realise that it is Chief, singing. And it’s ‘My Yaweh’ not ‘Hare Rama’. I am a trained professional reduced to the status of the bewildered.