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So, last night I made the mistake of being exhausted, which precipitated in my going to bed early. Rookie error: When, in the history of all humankind, has anyone had a good sleep-through when camping in the path of a night creature with rings on its fingers and bells on its toes? But, more about this now now.
I don’t know about you, but we have A Rule: No devices in the room when you’re sleeping. It shouldn’t apply to me, because, if you must know, my phone has the battery life of a gnat that’s been given a good dose of absinthe for breakfast. At five-past breakfast, things start looking a bit shaky, by ten-past a fat woman has burst into song somewhere in the universe.
Not that I would know because, if it isn’t on Facebook it never happened. Although I consider myself to be fairly well endowed with senses (more about this later) clairaudience isn’t one of them.
But, a rule is a rule.
Not a minute after my head hit the pillow, there comes the rustling of curtains.
I have been sleeping at night for many years, and I know for a fact that rustling curtains in a room where both the door and the windows are closed is never a good thing.
It does not bode well.
But, this isn’t my first rodeo. There was that time I overnighted at a wine farm with a 3-legged collie called Winston. The workers’ houses were now cute little semi-detached cottages with a deep stoep running the length of all 6 or 7. In the middle of the night there’s a man standing at the foot of my bed calling my name.
It took a while for him to leave and me to breathe.
At which point I searched said cottage for the intruder but discovered – surprise! – that all the windows were shut tight and the doors locked and he was nowhere to be found. Not even in the fridge.
Back to last night: Suddenly and without warning the door to the balcony flung itself open, letting in a gust of night wind and the sound of someone sharpening an axe.
Yes, from the balcony.
Anyone else may have found this odd or even frightening, but as I say, not my first rodeo. Also we have one of those hanging-basket-egg-chairs (white with a violently blue cushion to prevent imprinting basket weave welts on your bum). It grates on its chain when someone sits on it.
When someone sits on it.
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