Thunderbolts and Lightning, very very frightening…

I am sitting on our bed watching the torrential rain soak the fools who are dressed for summer, and leaning up against a veritable mountain of pillows and duvets. This is not for my benefit, though I am very comfy, but for the WH, who is currently cowering inside the feather fortress, hiding from the thunder. Every so often her nose pokes out from under a pillow to see if the coast is clear, and to check that her bodyguard (me) is still in situ, then disappears back into the dark lair. I feel quite sorry for her, but can’t help laughing. I remember a telephone conversation, once upon a time, in which my Nan described having to bundle her dog in a duvet in the midst of a thunder storm. The dog in question was a border collie called Fantasia, and probably the same size as Nan and we were literally crying with laughter at the thought of this WWF bout as it was described all the way from England over the speakerphone.

I’ve never really been good with thunder which, given that I’ve grown up in places where tropical storms are as frequent as buses, is quite an impediment. Since I’ve had to start burying the dog, my concerns about the noise and drama (something I should ordinarily love, let’s face it!) have lessened. It’s the same with being on my own. DH’s schedule of court appearances varies greatly; sometimes he can go for months without so much as a sniff, and other times, he seems to be on a train to Cardiff or Manchester or Maidstone every day. Oftentimes it makes more sense to ‘stay over’ the night before, rather than set of for the great unknown at 4am. It’s never been something I enjoy, since I don’t sleep as well without him. When you are on your own in a house, you hear noises you never noticed before, you find many more spiders in corners and you begin to wonder if the monster-under-the-bed that used to worry you as a child is in fact still there. BD (Before Dog) I always slept with the hall light on; all the better for seeing the thieves come up the stairs towards me or something. I don’t know, but it gave me comfort. From when we were babies, my mother always left our bedroom doors ajar and the hall light on. She didn’t like the idea of us waking in the dark and being afraid. I suspect she had similar insecurities about thieves and spiders and monsters-under-the-bed (to be fair we lived in countries where mosquitoes buzzed and cockroaches scuttled around in the darkness). DH of course is much manlier and didn’t like me leaving the light on when we first moved in together. Now it’s a moot point since the notorious D-O-G sleeps with us; we keep the bedroom door closed to prevent her nocturnal wanderings. Even when DH is off earning a crust, the door stays closed and the light stays off. WH keeps a watchful eye for monsters and spiders and thieves from her master’s pillow. And, thunderstorms aside, I usually get a reasonable night’s sleep.

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