When I used to get up early in the morning to get ready for work, I felt like I was torn from the warm arms of a gorgeous, unknown lover. I remember that, on a couple of occasions, the tearing intrusion of the alarm clock had dissipated Jon Bon Jovi and Christian Bale into the vague mist of early morning, my mind still reeling from multiple could have beens if only that damn clock had not gone off. Now that I do not have to get up for such bourgeois crap as going to the office, I wake up earlier than usual, generally rearing to go. And this is what the domestic world looks like at seven in the morning, especially when it has rained all night and I cannot even see my own desk without the aid of some artificial light.
It is the best moment really, when Rick is still sleeping and William and Victoria, albeit watching my every move, are decent enough to still stay in their beds until some piano music starts blaring from the speakers. It was even better this morning because I had heard the rain all night and there is nothing quite like bad weather to make one's appreciate the comfort of the home. The home needn't be a mansion-sized wooden chalet in the Swiss Alps either; my house, which in turn can be 'A Sweet Home' or 'A Shit Hole' , depending on how I feel about life, is great at providing maximum comfort on rainy days with minimal architectural effort.
An extra thick duvet is a must, as is a super-comfortable Tempura mattress; the swooshing of the kettle coming to the boil as I am grinding coffee is always a sound that makes me smile at this time of day. And I can definitely see how some deluded would-be house sellers make fresh coffee prior to a buyer's visit; the aroma that pervades the house and lingers all morning is usually enough to make me put on a second latte even before I have finished the first one (but I am still skeptical of its merits in the house selling process). All of this even without a proper coffee machine! The miracles of familiarity... October is here in all of its misery, all hail October!