Waking up at six in the morning every morning is my routine and I have come to love that quiet space slopping off downstairs to have an early caffeine injection in the garden without one of my boys yelling out my name. When I say name, I mean the affectionate term by which offspring and partner refer to me: " Big Bird". Now, I'm sure that is because I am fluffy, slightly jaundiced ( Irish alcohol riddled blood will out) and long- legged and has absolutely nothing whatsoever to do with me being a generously cuddly female as that would surely make them misogynistic!
By seven o'clock I'm discovered and ordered questions are barked out- not by me - by the bleeding blighters. "What's for breakfast?" " Where's my shirt?" " Have you got any cash?" I spin around from question to question scowling, not in a Kylie "spinning around" way more of an Exorcist head spinning way.
So the week came when it was just me and Mr Biggus Dic... Or my partner . Five o'clock arrived and I found myself clinging to the edge of the bed. Not from lust! No! He had taken up three quarters of our sleeping space and was lying prostrate on top of the duvet and had imprisoned me immobile in the covers so much so that I had awoken believing my legs had been severed from my body as I could no longer feel them. In a non too pleasant mood I disentangled myself from the bed sheets and my elbow may have lightly grazed his chest!!! Six o'clock would have usually awoken me but not this morning! NO! In his deep slumber his arm flung out and stuck me on the forehead.
Well my words to greet the dawn chorus cannot be repeated here but his groggy, sleep he muttered:" Coffee, No milk just sugar. Big Bird"
And I wondered at that moment what the boiling point of sugar was?
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