I think one of the greatest things of all time about the kids going back to school is that our lovely, not annoying in any way, shape or form, neighbour is having to re-educate their shit of a child into not being nocturnal anymore. He’s going to have to go to bed at a reasonable hour (I mean, for them that could be anything to be fair) so that he can get up in the morning.
Something which he most definitely has not done for the past six months or so.
He has, through most of lockdown, become nocturnal. Not a sound is heard from him during daylight hours, but once it gets dark and – generally – post midnight, the little fucker just runs around the house, up and down the stairs, across the floor, just running. All the time. All the fucking time.
Last night, he was being reigned in a bit, we think. There was a lot of screaming and tantrums. There was also a lot of running. Running until the wee small hours. But we think the tide is turning.
Which is great. No longer will we lie in bed, unable to sleep, listening to the sound of a rotund child running round the house (presumably looking for chips).
Not until half-term, at least.
It does mean, though, that we won’t know what time it is – we’ll have to start asking the home robot lady or looking at watches. No longer will we be able to ascertain that it’s time for Carole to go to bed because the little shit weasel has become active and, therefore, the hour must be late.
Sitting here now, writing this, it’s unusual not to hear the leaden footfalls up and down the stairs, or the two to three step jump at the finale of the descent.
It’s bloody bliss.
I could get used to it.
He’ll probably get expelled or something…