The Darkness

Our cat has a great life. Pampered, spoiled, has her own fur coat.

She’s aloof and mocks me on Sundays when I get up, knowing she can go back to sleep and I can’t.

Every Sunday morning I get up at 3.45am, stagger to the shower while cursing under my breath about the unearthly hour, wondering why I’ve forgotten to put the heating on the night before, and then stumbling in the dark looking for clothes to wear. If you see me on a Sunday you will think I’ve been dressed by a colour blind wardrobe mistress with a grudge against society in general, and me in particular.

I have to get up in the middle of the night to drive to Reading for my radio show on BBC Berkshire, and rather than waken Debbie by putting on the lights, I avoid World War 3 by feeling my way in the dark, falling over things, and choosing the wrong clothes. It’s only a matter of time before I pick up one of her blouses and put it on by mistake. Of course, it wouldn’t fit me. It would be too big. (Kidding darling).

I should of course look out my clothes the night before but I’m too anxious to get some shut eye, so as soon as the News finishes I climb in to bed and force myself to sleep – which is difficult at 10pm. If I stay up any later I find myself falling asleep while driving home, which is disastrous. I mean how could I live with missing bits of The Archers Omnibus?

Over summer my nocturnal porridge making has been fun because it’s been getting lighter through breakfast time, but now I’m getting up in the dark, eating in the dark and driving in the dark because Winter is sending postcards telling me she’s on her way back after her holiday down under.

I love Winter so long as I can get up when I want to, stay in my dressing gown all day and have people make me hot chocolate on tap. Which is never.

I live with three women (Debbie and my two daughters) and as is very well known, the gentler sex are complete wimps when it comes to cold temperatures. They want the heating on in June if the sun goes behind a cloud for more than a minute, and they wear three layers of jumpers on the beach, underneath a tracksuit and duffel coat.

So now that Christmas cards and selection boxes are already in stores, Halloween costumes hang in supermarkets, and Halfords has a special offer on anti freeze, I’m preparing myself now.

I’m just hoping my bad language from kicking the bed side cabinet in the dark, scraping ice off my windscreen and travelling to a freezing studio isn’t overheard by anyone but the cat.

Roll on Summer.