Attempted an early night last night as He-who-must-be-adored was working even later than his normal 'late' (saving London takes a lot of time). The first time I came back downstairs was for make-up-remover, (note why make-up is not worth the bother). Back at the sink I remember my mobile is somewhere downstairs. As the bedroom phone is lost (presumed broken) and the bedside alarm is sabotaged beyond repair (damaged denied by the little blighters) I need my mobile. The bedside clock will show the time if you know which button to press. I haven't touched it since I set it screeching in the wee small hours some time ago. If I want to know the time, in the dark, I flip the mobile so it lights up and point it to my watch (which has big hands). Why? Obviously the mobile typeface is too small to read without my glasses. Crap system. But it works.
Downstairs 'phone hunting I half-packed the lunch boxes, to potentially save precious morning minutes in the quest to exit the house on time. Finally into bed and can't remember whether I've locked the front door. This, He informs me, often, is of vital importance.
The third time downstairs I don't find keys but do find I've already locked the door. Also of vital importance is for keys to be in designated place. Since the fire safety officer visited gorgeous boy's class we've had to have a fire plan. Ours is again, crap, but at least we have one. It used to include a whistle beside my bed but that too is lost, presumed dead. Pleased to find my special pen, but no sign of keys, so head to bed defeated. In bed the keys show themselves.
This is one reason I never go to bed until He is home. For all his faults, which are many and varied, he does the night routine. And the finding. Without question. In that solid dependable way of his. In bed I realise replacing fags with fruit tea has a negative effect on the thrice-pregnant bladder. Up again.
Back in bed notice glasses are neither on my face nor beside bed. Blindly hunting them with morning-brain-fog may waste minutes I don't have to spare. I mentally re-trace my steps (up, down, up down, round and round etc etc) and find them next to the sink.
Collapse into bed, defeated. Too tired to read. I wonder what am I supposed to do with my cold feet without He with the hot body? I miss him. And am buggered if I'm heading downstairs again for a hot-water bottle