Sleeping like the Dead

Bryan said “By the way Roger is coming for the weekend.”

“When does he arrive?” I asked in a blasé fashion, being used to having visitors pop in out of the blue and all.

“Oh, I guess in the early morning on Friday.” was the reply I got.

Early on Friday (to me anyway) means any time between six am and say oo'er nine fifty nine am on Friday. Remember Friday is the weekend for us. Any other time is either the middle of the night or day time.

On Thursday after an arty farty overload of beauty  on The Art Bus with Philip (the beloved first born) and an unmemorable evening. Well I can’t remember what we did, if anything. By the by, do you know  at  the moment the days merge into nights into weeks because, darlings, there is just too much on. I really do need to get a life where I am independently wealthy. If for no other reason than to be able to fit all this busy-ness in without the bother of a job. Anyway, after a lovely day of art and “whatever” evening we went to bed, as you do. I think between 11.30 p.m. and midnight, although for us that seems a bit early. Some time between then and the morning Bryan and I were both up fussing about because of ruddy kamikaze Dubai mosquitoes. What is it with mosquitoes in this town? They are evil little vampires with  poison, I swear, in their gnashers. If you get bitten by a mosquito in Dubai the likelihood of acquiring a festering wound within a few days is pretty damn high. Vicious little critters. Anyway, it was not a peaceful sleep (brand plugging aside) that we had. Then as if that was not enough, miserably, at what felt like an ungodly hour (seven a.m. as it happens) I was woken up by Bryan’s phone ringing. The call was to let Bryan know  that Roger has been on our door step since 1.30a.m. !!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Apparently early on Friday is 1.30am. Which of course is technically correct. If I had known  that this was the time Roger was arriving I would have left the door unlocked for the poor man. So our guest arrived at our home and rang the doorbell, and rang it some more, and knocked at the door, and knocked some more (in our defence he did say that he did not knock very loudly) and none of the three people in the house heard a bloody thing. We did not hear a ring or a knock or even plaintive sobbing, if there was any. So Roger curled up outside the front door and tried to get some sleep. Poor bloody bugger.

Over a peace offering coffee (the no longer Jolly) Roger recounted his ordeal. He said it had been cold, so cold in fact that he had to pull his beanie out of his suitcase. Or did he pull out his beanie to stop the mosquitoes from eating him alive… I forget… it was early in the morning. Did I mention he was harassed by mosquitoes (no surprises there) and midges? The marble was not comfortable. He is no longer a young man and stone floors are not made for middle aged bodies. It was a sad, sorry, tale and I felt dreadful for our small , well okay, entire part in his discomfort.

Two things spring to my mind. One is about my / our sleeping patterns and the other about Roger’s tactics.

Firstly, you need to know that I get woken up every day by a neighbour who goes to the Gym opposite our house at 4am. EVERY MORNING. By the way  the neighbour  shall remain nameless for the time being as not only  is he a neighbour but we work in the same company, so one day when I need some cannon fodder I will have it. I mean all this waking me up at four a.m. must have some emotional blackmail value don't you think? But back to the point. I get woken up by his turning on of the lights in the Gym. Such is the nature of my light sleeperness. This being the case how on God's  green Earth is it possible that I do not get woken up by someone ringing the doorbell? If you are in the business of breaking and entering you know what time to call at our place.

Secondly I think that Roger is far too well brought up by half. I would have made much more noise, thrown a few stones at our bedroom window, or at least tried to break in. Mind you, having been quiet as a mouse about getting into our home, once in it we could not shut him up about the hardship he suffered at our hands. He milked it let me tell you. He milked it expertly, just enough to make us feel as low as shark shit, but not enough to stop us feeling guilty. Well Played Roger.

Whilst writing this post I started to have a sense of deja vu. So I went looking at older posts. I sadly  discovered, much to my shame, that this is not the first time this has happened to our guests....

The other visitor who was left out in the cold. 

We are bad, bad hosts. If you are coming for a visit. Word of advice. If we are not picking you up from the airport. Make bloody sure we promise to leave the door open for you. Oh and bring a pillow and sleeping bag if we don't...... Just saying. Better safe than sorry.