Not a morning person

I didn’t mean to stay up late last night, but the storm was so spectacular I had to watch it crashing about in the heavens, like a stumbling drunk with a welding torch, trying to find the bathroom.

Then the BF came round and forced me to watch him eating his current favourite snack food – savoury cornflakes. I don’t know why I find it so revolting, but the sight of him grinding a hefty helping of salt and pepper onto his bowl of milk-sodden breakfast cereal makes me nauseous.

And this morning, just as I was about to roll out of my beloved’s gently slumbering embrace, my flatmate got up and spent the next 25 minutes in the bathroom, leaving me 7 minutes to get up, get washed, get dressed, have breakfast and leave the house.

I wish to god I knew what he did in there. Actually, I don’t. But I’ve never known a man spend so much time on ablutions with the accompaniment of so many varied and interesting noises.

So I’ll just imagine that he is secretly hiding a large family of monkeys behind the side panel of the bath.