hot arabian nights

last night, I had fallen asleep on the hideous circular red vinyl sofa in the sitting room bit of the house. I woke with a start in the ungodlish hours to find that my bare flash was fairly stuck to the vinyl. As I prised myself off it in the dark, I looked out into the moonlit garden through the enormous plate glass window and caught glimpses (this did read glmipses... which I find more pleasing, but you wouldn't know what it meant. "oh, look, there goes a glmipse" "a what?" "a glmipse!" "what's a glmipse?" "oh, don't you know ANYTHING?") of goings-on going on.

I strained my ears. The last of the paparazzi had left some hours before. The house is strongly fortified, so I don't know what they expect to get, but every day they come and every evening we can hear distant strains of "nyeugh neyeugh nyeugh" until they go click clicking home. So, I wasn't expecting to hear much other than the girls snoring and the boys whimpering (and a rather strange gurgling from somewhere dr rob insists is a "special" place... I call it the bog). But there it was. The distinct sound of an iPod and little white speakers... playing Rimsky Korsakov's Scheherazade.

And then a rustle in the bushes... near the mini blog-flap...

I fell asleep not long after. I wasn't keen on seeing anything that would compromise me in the morning.

I am still stuck to the sofa. But I'll have to wait for help with that.