No rest for the wicked !

Heres a short resume of this mornings activities ….

With full grumpy mode I pull the duvet back over my head and start to play hide & seek with Willow and Jack, they are NOT going to give up, fed up with my nonsense they start getting narky, a brief peek at the clock, the little hand points to nine and the big hand at a position twenty-five past, both canines know that this is not acceptable, breakfast for them has normally been consumed by the time nine a.m. has struck.

No sign of life from the master bedroom, just a gentle snore emanating from between the solid pine block and the architrave of the door frame, I shout out “GOOD MORNING” as I start the day with a vengeance, If, im up, then so is everyone else, flicking on the display cabinet light and the table lamp in the hall with as much noise as possible.

There are still dishes on the drainer from last eve, surprising just how cathartic it can be by putting away dried cutlery, as I aim each precision hewn item into its designated slot in the draw tidy, a sleepy friend puts his head around the kitchen door and grunts …. “feck off” and laughs as he heads to ablution central situated at the far end of the South wing, yet another crazy day at Rockhaven has begun. Even though it’s the weekend, and a once often routine of being sat face to television by ten o’clock for a live edition of Saturday Kitchen does not happen anymore, not ever since the format has changed, instead, we endure another hour of “The Big Bang Theory” which gets us laughing within seconds, even though most episodes have been seen by us often more than once.

Three dogs are now protesting with invisible banners and chanting obscenities under the guise of dog breath, by the smell, it must be the full unabridged works of satan. Risking life and limb I lower the bowls of doggy deliciousness into an area of no return and within less than a countdown half-minute, two of them finish on the dot together albeit a nanosecond apart.

Two freshly brewed individual coffee drippers are steeping, each with a pinch of sea-salt and our own personal gram measurements stand behind the warming mugs for five minutes like guards either side of a gateway. The microwave clock displays 09:55, by my timing and poured refreshment, we have exactly 90 seconds to get our asses in our seats …. “where’s my croissants” I shout, HURRY UP!!

The Hungryhouse advert appears on the television screen, its Ten a.m. and with a swift move of my forefinger I press the ‘pause’ button on the remote ….. surely you dont think im that callous by watching it without my bestie? ….. shame on you !

 

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