So it’s Saturday morning and I follow my usual routine,
stagger out of bed around 10:00 (not a morning person, will not be a morning
person, will stay up until 5:00am quite happily. Night time is good) and
stagger down stairs. With much zombie groaning I fill my lovely pint mug with
coffee (it has a warning on it, ordering people to a minimum safe distance. I
love my mugs), I stagger into the living room, collapse on the sofa and fumble
my kindle out of my dressing gown pocket.
One mug down and several chapters, it finally registers
that there’s something poking me in the side. I look over and see a bassoon.
This is not an innuendo. For some reason there is a
bassoon on my sofa. It could be an oboe I guess. What is the difference between
an oboe and a bassoon anyway?
And a French horn on my coffee table. And a trombone on
the floor. I think there’s a cased flute on the armchair
I reflected on this for a moment. Got up, refilled my
coffee mug. After a few judicious sips I found the little writing pad on the
fridge, took a sheet of paper and wrote a large “NO” on it and magnetised it to
the fridge door. I took a sheet of paper from by the phone, pinned it on the
phone board with another “No” written clearly and lastly, took a note bad from
the drawer, wrote a very clear “HELL NO!” on it and left it on the coffee
table. I then went back upstairs with my kindle and a third cup of coffee.
I don’t know how I’d deal with Beloved’s shenanigans
without coffee.
