In The Morning, You Know It’s Gonna Be Alright…

This morning was brilliant.

Not the fact that I didn’t get to sleep until something past four. That part sucked major league ass to be honest. I was wide awake, lying in bed. I read most of the internet and watched as many YouTube videos as I could that had actual captions on them and not those auto-generated ones which, I think, come about by sticking a dictionary through a shredder and hurling the page fragments at the screen. Whatever sticks is what you get.

Technology may be moving on apace, but it’s not quite there yet folks. The only place you should legitimately see automated captioning is in a Wetherspoons when they put the subtitles on the breakfast news. You can’t wind down when watching a video with auto captions on it, because your brain is actively trying to work out what the actual words must have been to be giving you the garbage that is moving along the bottom of the screen. And by the time you’ve worked that out, three other sections of balderdash have entered your optic nerve.

So no, that bit sucked. Although, actually, reading the internet and watching the videos was quite good fun and passed the time quite nicely. It did not, though, have the desired effect of making my eyelids heavy in any way, shape or form.

When I did get to sleep the dream I had was amazing. It made no sense whatsoever, but it was one of those dreams that you wake up from wishing that a) it was all real b) you could, at will, revisit the same dream scenario again and c) you could remember all the salient details, rather than just the odd nugget of a bizarre – but satisfying – experience.

But that’s not why the morning was brilliant.

It was brilliant because it was the first morning since before Christmas that we haven’t had a house guest. We could get up when we wanted or, in my case, go to sleep when we wanted. Although I wanted to go to sleep somewhat earlier, in fact. We could break wind merrily, passing comment on the richness of the Christmas fare, without fear of reprisals or offending anyone in our environ. We could fulfil the most basic of the getting dressed requirements. And, most importantly, Carole could get up and watch Little Women, booing her eyes out in the process without anyone to judge.

That’s not to say that we didn’t enjoy my mum’s company, even if she didn’t wash up. Or Daniel’s company, even if he also didn’t wash up. We did. It was lovely. In fact the house is strangely empty without a creeping pensioner or a grown man in a Christmas onesie occupying a space on the couch and one of us relegated to a less comfortable seating area. Both guests, incidentally, have left various items at our house for us to look after until the next time they visit. They can both knock that off, we’re not a bloody storage locker – we have enough trouble keeping our own crap in order, let alone having other people’s stuff taking up our valuable space.

But it’s still lovely to know you don’t have to listen out for the sounds of people stirring in the morning and govern your own routine based on them. There is no greater feeling of joy in the morning than knowing that you are not responsible, in any way, for any other humans under your roof. You don’t have to entertain them, make sure the TV is on a suitable channel or just do the washing up because they won’t. It’s blissful. It’s amazing.

Let’s do it again tomorrow.