Rocking It

 Nell the Poo continues to wake me around 3 a.m (give or take an hour or so) to go into the garden for a wee/poo/spot of squirrel watching. I don’t engage with her; I merely open the back door and stand in the dark in the kitchen waiting for her return whilst trying to keep myself as sleepy as possible. (Have I ever mentioned I’m never having another dog ever again?)

Usually, I manage to return to sleep without too much of a bother, but I do have the most peculiar dreams in the period twixt 3 a.m (ish) and when I wake properly at around 5.30. 

This morning’s wee small hours dream went like this…

…I was in the front bedroom of Damson Cottage. It was just before dawn, and a lorry was on the driveway tipping out a load of rocks. Like these…

Well, you can imagine what I had to say about THAT! I opened the window and leaned out. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’ I bellowed at the group of men, all dressed in high visibility jackets and hard hats. 

One of them looked up and said, ‘We’re storing these here for a building job and you can’t stop us.’

I was down the stairs and outside quicker than you could say, ‘Woman defending her homestead.’

‘You pick those up immediately,’ I said. ‘You’ve no right to dump anything on MY driveway.’ And then I took a sheaf of papers from my pocket and waved them at him. He turned pale and went into a huddle with his mates. Emboldened by the scent of ‘I’m right and you’re wrong’, I continued onwards.

‘It says here,’ I said, jabbing the papers, ‘that you need to ask my permission properly and with due diligence and consideration, and you have NOT! And,’ I continued, ‘if you don’t take these rocks away IMMEDIATELY, I shall pick them up one by one myself and THROW them into the road.’ 

Rocks being stored on my driveway indeed. Pah!

And then I spotted two women dressed in business suits and carrying clipboards who I instinctively knew were in charge of rocks being stored for building projects. I made a bee-line for them to discuss the issue. They both agreed that the rocks should NOT be dumped on my driveway, and when I turned around, rocks, lorry and men in high-viz jackets and hard hats had all vanished. There was, however, bits of dust and pebbles left on the driveway and I thought, ‘I suppose it’ll be me that gets the broom out to tidy up, then.’

And then someone appeared at my side and said, ‘I’ll help you,’ and when I turned to thank her, I found I was looking at myself. 

Make of THAT what you will, psychoanalysts of the world.