This morning, I felt distinctly more disorientated than usual when emerging from my slumber. The glare in the room illuminated so brightly my initial thoughts were I’d woken with a high visibility jacket over my head. Either that, I pondered, or someone had surreptitiously redecorated my bedroom with a highlighter pen overnight.
Whilst continuing my emergence into a state of full consciousness, I mulled over who could have decorated so quietly they’d avoided raising me from my sleep. I only hoped it wasn’t the guy who last week quoted me a ridiculous £2000 for applying two coats of emulsion. If it was him, he’d done so without my blessing, not to mention utilised a paint colour I’d not requested…….. Although, admittedly, it was growing on me.
Also crossing my mind at the time was John Wyndham’s sci-fi book ‘The Day of the Triffids’. A highly acclaimed story that commences with a large glaring light from a comet causing almost worldwide blindness of the human race.
With most of the Earth’s humans deprived of vision, a mobile genus of plant (triffids) rose in anger to rule the world…………. With the exception of the town of Birtley in County Durham, which was returned by the governing plants following disagreements with councillors about stone cladding.
The triffids were a ruthless horticultural species, displaying zero tolerance to human insubordination, jaywalking and use of the word weedol. It’s deemed an iconic sci-fi tome which won it’s author the award of ‘Best Book Written By Someone Called John Wyndham’ in 1951.
Surely this wasn’t the start of a triffid takeover I pondered; a thought made in parallel to unsuccessful attempts at focussing my eyes. If it was, bang goes the £50 I’d bet that triffids wouldn’t rule the world until 2018.
If they had become our new rulers, I was hoping I’d be leniently dealt. After all, I’d given their horticultural cousins based in my garden years of TLC. The azaleas, geum, foxglove et al have been fed and watered regularly, resulting in them thriving.
Apart from being made King of Ainsley Scragg and a lifetime supply of marmite, my only requests were to be spared from torture and viewing reality TV…… If I was only allowed one wish, I’d ask to be spared the viewing of reality TV, confident my tolerance to having my finger nails removed outweighed that of being forced to watch Love Island.
Getting more accustomed to my surroundings, it became apparent that the source of the glare was in fact bright sunlight, which beamed like a search light through my cream curtains.
I gave a sigh of relief there wouldn’t be a £2000 decorating bill after all……….. Although, I made a mental note that highlighter pen yellow colour might be an option when finally getting around to re-decorating.
The reason I was so disorientated was I’d been woken from a deep sleep by the noise of workmen laying Tarmac. The racket of drills, voices and shovels, during the laying and rolling of bitumen brought to mind something very loud.
Due to tiredness, I couldn’t think of the simile of how loud it was then, and I’m still struggling now. However, trust me on this, it was chuffing loud! ………… If you still haven’t got a mental picture of the din, think of something really loud ………. There, it was as loud as that! ……… Got the picture?
In a dishevelled state, I dragged myself out of bed, wondering why the hell I’d chosen tarmac instead of carpeting as the new flooring in my front room.
Damn you tarmac team. Not only does your labour cause hours of traffic speed restrictions and lane closures on our roads, but now you have the gall to wake me prematurely from my slumber.
Anyway, I must conclude this narrative now, I’ve just spotted a couple of triffids trying to pollinate the poppy’s in my back garden………… Dirty buggers!
2 kids who've flown the nest, 1 wife whose flown with Jet2. Born at a young age in 1960's Leeds, the author became interested in the literary life when his wife bought him a dog. Having an allergy to dogs, he swapped it for a typewriter. Being unable to train the typewriter to retrieve tennis balls, he reluctantly turned to writing...... Website - www.writesaidfred.org