Getting It Wrong

Miss Hails had herself an unauthorised lie-in the other morning. She hasn't been the only one getting it a bit wrong at getting-up time. Take me for instance - I am not very good at getting myself to bed at a sensible hour. Most nights I'll say to Bert,

I really must get off to bed before midnight, tonight.

And most nights I bungle it. But last night I got it right. I was up those stairs at quarter to eleven, hot-water bottle under my arm, gardening magazine in my hand and a German Shepherd at my heels. Teeth brushed, alarm set, Bonnie settled with her squeaky toys and after thirty minutes with an old Guardian crossword then a self-hypnosis session (of which more later) I was turning out the light just before the witching hour.

I did feel good this morning. Leapt out of bed like a lilty at seven thirty sharp, quick wash, teeth brushed, layered on the thermals and the office duds, and I was just pulling on my boots when I thought to myself,

Bit dark this morning.

I looked at the clock. Only a quarter to bloody seven! What to do? Only one thing I could do really. Off with the boots and the office skirt and back into bed for another hour's kip. I'm going up early again tonight. It's only twenty to eleven. Night, night!