Sunday, 23 September 2007

morning

I wake up, not knowing what time it is, wanting to go back asleep if at all possible. I know it's morning, but I also know that I'm a) exhausted and b) not going to get a lie in tomorrow either.

I'm just drifting off when a high pitched whine starts, suddenly giving way to a horrible, horrible grinding noise before stopping just as suddenly. I closed my eyes optimistically, waiting for my heartrate to slow. But just as I begin to relax, it starts again. I go to the window, lean out to try and pinpoint where it's coming from. No idea.

I get back in bed, try to relax. No joy. In the end I look at my clock. 8.45 on Saturday morning. Can't they wait half an hour, even fifteen minutes?

It doesn't stop.

I can't stand it any more. I grab my dressing gown, storm out of the house and follow the noise down the road. A few houses down I find a couple of guys sawing bricks with some kind of circular... thing. (Saw? I have no idea.)

The noise is overwhelming this close. I shout to try and get their attention but they don't hear. I have to wait til one of them turns round and spots me, puts his hand out to stop his colleague. The noise slows and stops, blessedly.

'It's not even nine o'clock on Saturday morning! I'm exhausted. I'm busy in the morning so I won't get a lie in tomorrow. My husband's exhausted after a hard week. Can't you wait even another half hour?'

They look kind of afraid. I don't think they're often confronted by batty-looking women in dressing gowns. They agree, probably to get rid of the crazy lady off the end of their drive. I thank them, slightly calmer and go back home, slip back into bed. D stirs, turn over.

'They're going to stop sawing bricks for half an hour or so' I announce.

'What?' he murmurs groggily.

He's slept through the entire noise.

Bastard.

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