We have always joked about shift-sleeping. Yesterday afternoon he retired to bed in order to stay up late to watch Portugal-Spain. At 7pm he sent me to bed, because he could see that I was fading. As promised, he came to wake me up. "It's eight o'clock," he said. "Morning or evening?" I asked. The next thing I knew it was 9.15 and I had missed most of the game. Of course, he went to bed at 9.45.
My mobile rung, but before I could answer it, it had stopped ringing. Caller display said it was Jimmy. Then the house phone rang, so I went downstairs to answer it. All the clocks said it was quarter past five. I'm panicking, I'm supposed to be at the Festival Hall at five. Then there's a knock on the door. "Who is it," I shout. It's Jimmy. I warn him I'm entirely naked, and I open the front door. He's left his keys in the house. "What time is it?" I ask. "Quarter past five," he says. "Have I slept all this time? I'm supposed to be out before four." "In the morning," he says and leaves me.
I go to have a shower. Next I hear his voice. I nearly fall down in the shower with shock. He's shocked at seeing me naked again. Coming into the house and hearing no reply, he assumes I'm asleep upstairs, so goes to the shower room to rinse off the worst of the bacon smell. Despite the sound of running water, he didn't expect to find me in the shower...
He's decided to give up smoking. Today. Bastard. I got him reading the evangelism of Naked Blog. He's cleared off down the pub. It won't last. Not on a day that England play Croatia.
Somebody should do a doctoral thesis on why Spain never live up to expectations. Maybe they should learn that football isn't played on paper...
