In recent days I have been sleeping on top of the bed most of the time. The duvet has found alternative temporary accommodation. I have had the air blower blowing air at me in bed, but it hasn't made an ounce of difference, sleeping has been hell. It would have been with or without Laing. I have been hoping the weather would change.
When I retired last night I felt my head throb. "Oh good, thunder overnight." I thought. I woke up around 1 a.m. and felt uncomfortable. I checked the e-mail boxes, surfed a bit from the luxury of bed with my i-Pad, Laing's last present to me.
Then about 2 a.m. it started. A lot of electrical storms going on and distant rumbling, not much else, but it was pretty continuous. Then it got a little louder and the rain started and I could feel the air clean. I sleep with my window open, we always have, and the cleaner air started seeping into the bedroom. I got up and opened the window wider. Oh bliss! Despite the noise of the thunder and bright light of the lightning and the varying sound of the rain failing and water gushing or trickling through the guttering, I managed to fall back off to sleep until just before 5.30 awoken by the sound of a blackbird sounding quite alarmed.
On nights like this I would have had Laing to hug and cuddle or talk to. Instead I moved over to his side of the bed, and slept diagonally. When I woke up I was back on my side but the pillows were in a V shape making an arrow head pointing to the head of the bed.
It's been quite some time since we had a such stormy night in London, but the air has changed. Let's hope the tube won't be too humid and uncomfortable or wet. Yes, wet. The windows at the ends of carriages are open in this weather, and in the morning after rain the water has found its way in. It's like walking through a carriage when snow has melted off shoes such is the amount of water.
Oh for trains which are not divided up with air conditioning/heating that works properly and efficiently. Oh for anybody other than bloody Boris as mayor. Well, not necessarily anybody. We could land up with another objectionable self publicist, or worse, though what could be worse at present defeats meat 6.15 in the morning.
