Like any romantic, I love the sound of rain on the roof, pitter-pattering while I'm warm as toast inside, preferably drinking a glass of decent red (or is that a decent glass of red?). But last night's tempest took the cake for the freakiest weather I've heard in ages.
We had thunder, we had lightning, we had wind. And I had one scared dog, all 40+ kilograms of him shaking like a leaf, and lying in an agitated state across the foot of my bed, making my feet go numb. There was nothing romantic or soothing about that light and sound display, let me tell you.
Of course any big clap of thunder and flash of lightning cut our power, and this happened about 7 or 8 times - at 2am, which was most distracting. Clearly such an interruption to our power supply lead to the inevitable 7.30am scramble to slide out of bed into the shower and out the door in one fluid movement before 8am. And yes, I got it done. Okay, it was 8.05am when I left, but that's close enough.
Given the broken sleep and slap-dash start to my morning, I haven't yet been brave enough to check whether I'm wearing odd shoes, or my singlet inside out. I'm not convinced I care enough about that right now anyway.
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