It all worked according to plan until 5.30 a.m., when the cat evidently answered a call of nature in the litter tray in the utility room, and made frantically noisy attempts to escape from the consequences. If we had been in central Italy rather than Chester, I would have taken it for another earthquake. I half-heartedly endeavoured to suppress a wicked smile as I turned over and went back to sleep.
Mrs H and her original and protective nightcap
Meanwhile, urban life reached what seemed to be a new low point this lunchtime when I looked out of the window and saw three female teenagers from the Scratters’ Academy sitting in a circle on the ground, blocking the pavement opposite the house, with their feet in the gutter and a feast of chips spread out on papers before them. Such style, such elegance. It’s like living on the set of Slumdog Millionaire. They made a noisy exit after a bit, leaving the papers and a fair proportion of the chips behind them. I wonder what, if anything, they do teach them at that school?
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