Oh how I hate to get up in the morning

Not always, but sometimes I really want to stay in bed for just another minute. Or two. Or three. Small Dog is quite happy to wait until I finally surface, unless something outside convinvces her that she should rush into the salon, leap onto the chair by the window, and make her feelings well and truly heard. At which point I either have to call her and ask her to please be quiet, or just get up. As most of the television programmes that I really want to watch are on late in the evenings, I frequently don't get to bed until quite late.

What a change from when I was able to work. Then, I had to get up at 4.30am to catch the first of the six buses everyday - three in the morning, three after I finished work, and frequently didn't get home until it was almost time to go to bed. No time to watch TV. In fact no time to do anything. Needless to say, Small Dog wasn't around then, in fact I never even contemplated having a four-legged companion.

Maybe I'm just being lazy, but bad nights are sometimes only too frequent, so a good night is something to be treasured. The only problem is my "little sister" next door. If she doesn't see my bedroom shutters open by what she thinks is a reasonable hour, she phones to make sure I'm ok. When I first moved into this house, nearly four and a half years ago, it took me ages to convince her that if she doesn't see that I'm up at what is, to her, a "normal" time, not to worry. As long as it's no later than 10am. Usually I am up well before then, but the other day Lexie and I didn't surface until nearly 10.30am and I think poor Malka was on the point of getting someone to break my front door open!

Well, it wasn't my fault that all the phone lines were down and she couldn't call me was it? Ah, but isn't it nice to know that people care.