Great Start To The Day

Enormous clap of thunder right over the house at 3.20am that even yours truly couldn't sleep through. My initial thought was that a bomb had gone off in the street. The daft old bat at number 82 with her nineteen cats had left the gas on one time too often, before getting up in the middle of the night to empty her colostomy bag and BOOM!

But no, it was the mother of all thunderstorms which brought some welcome heavy rain with it, which will no doubt have pleased the local farming fraternity. Of course then I can't get back to sleep because I'm thinking about widgets and "stuff". Finally doze off just as it's starting to get light. Mrs N#3 is up with the larks as usual, kids to sort out for school, pets to feed, get herself ready for work, next thing she's hammering on the bathroom door that the handle is stuck and she can't get out.

The handle was indeed stuck and despite quickly abandoning attempts to sort the job out using technical means like unscrewing the outer mechanism, brute force was swiftly adopted as a more reasonable solution to the crisis. Meanwhile ten year old George appears from his bedroom to see what all the fuss is about and proffer his help, which was firmly but politely declined. "But I need the toilet," he wails. "Well there's nothing I can do about that, you'll just have to use the garden," I helpfully reply. "I can't," he says pointing ominously to his rear end.

"I've opened the bathroom window, try throwing me up a screwdriver," I get from the other side of the door "It's wide open so even you should be able to manage that..." A hint of sarcasm there, but I let it go.

Right then, outside I go, barefooted and puddles everywhere (it has just lashed it down you will recall). Three throws later and no coconut. "Stand on the wall, that will help you get a better aim," from #3, head now poking out of the window. "No dearest you just stay right there, that will give me all the help my aim needs," I wittily retort, my Oscar the Grouch fatpants now mopping up last night's puddles as if they were made from Plenty, or Bounty or One Sheet or whatever it's called.

And whilst we are on that subject no I don't wear them to bed, but I always keep them handy should I need to run around outside at 7.15am. The shop they came from doesn't do them in "short cut" which I strangely didn't think would be a serious issue at the time, and sadly I didn't have the forethought turn them up.

Right where was I, yes MrsN#3 is stuck in the bathroom, head out of the window. I am running around outside sodden from the knees downwards attempting to emulate my personal hero of Phil "the power" Taylor and hit a treble twenty with a screwdriver from around 20 feet below a small glass dartboard. Anyway, I compose myself, step as gracefully as possible under the circumstances up to the "oche" although there's no sign of Jim Bowen ("don't worry about your charity money, that's safe) and hey presto, straight through the window, I'm in with a shot at Bully's star prize: the speedboat.

Sorted, MrsN#3 now extricates herself with the minimum of fuss (she's always been good with her hands) and the job is sorted, drama over. Phew.

"Right George, you can use the toilet now as you're desperate."

"You told me to go in the garden." Great!