Nine teenagers slept at my house on Friday night. One on one couch; two on another couch (had to be seen to be believed); one in Tory Boy’s room and six (including the owner) in Spud’s room. Next morning (near-catatonic), I accidentally implied one of Spud’s friends had bad breath (which he didn’t).
Saturday night, we had the real hurricane we were promised last week. Half of our road’s tarmac came up to reveal pretty cobbles underneath. The street sign was uprooted.
Last night, Molly decided to join the local fox in a pre-dawn barking contest.
Sleep: I remember it well.