There is a moment in the morning where all is right with the world. Pete is in the process of rolling out of bed and the sun is brightening the room despite the blinds. I can stretch out into my preferred diagonal position and relish having the whole bed to myself for these moments. The neighbourhood is waking around me. The birds singing in the garden in the back, water gurgling down the pipes from upstairs and next door’s showers, the boiler exhausting into the side return outside our bedroom window, and then it starts. Voices erupt from the next door’s kitchen (just below our bedroom window). I mean, it is just toast. Does it warrant actual screaming and swearing and ganging-up? Could we not have a morning without broadcasting your dysfunction to your bed-lounging neighbours?
Every. Single. Morning.
I try not to get too annoyed by these daily morning disputes spilling into my auditory space, as I assume that our family (when we get around to adding to it) will also be a loud family, but I would hope that we could manage to get out of the house most mornings without a full-on screaming match.
I’m dreaming aren’t I? Don’t tell me. Let me enjoy the fantasy.