You are gently woken up from your peaceful slumber. Trying to piece last night`s dream together, you come to the conclusion that your subconsciousness is very hell-bent on making you think it`s on acid.
You stir in bed, looking for your watch. Seven AM, you see. Mhm. Best get some more sleep then.
Turning around, you close your eyes and relax, letting yourself fall off to the Land of Nod.
But this morning, the journey is not meant to be.
Because you start noticing things around you. Things that want to distract you from sleepies. You notice that your breasts are popping out of your nightie. You make a mental note to actually go get a new nightie and discard this fucker as soon as possible.
Then, you notice that your breasts have somehow migrated to the side of your body. Clearly, they aren`t having a good morning, and want you to know they are miffed.
You notice the copy of the first Rebus novel by your bed. You try to remember where you bought it, when you bought it and if it`s any good. Suddenly, you feel a bit glum. You wonder if Rebus is feeling the same this morning. Then, you realize that he`s slightly fictional.
Feeling like a tit, you turn around again, trying desperately to catch some much-needed Zs before you have to get up and face the day.
Unfortunately, a very vexed goose has decided to demonstrate the power of its vocal chords. For many, many minutes at a time. You fear that said goose is in the process of being horribly murdered.
You decide to get up anyway, and get dressed. For today, you are braving the Olympic crowds and hitting London for the Erotic Writers Meet in Soho.
And the thought of that alone gives you strength. Because no vexed geese, moaning mothers or Olympic crowds can cramp the fact that you are going to be in good company today. And you feel kinda proud to live here.