We have a ghost, a selfish, inconsiderate and untimely ghost. My new Boden Pyjamas appearing in the middle of the bathroom floor, having been stashed nicely under my pillow, didn't faze me. The bizarre disappearance of my (as you are already aware), expensive, Harley Street crafted, whitening gum shields admittedly left me a little concerned, but the real onerous bug bear is the infamous TV turn on. He's playing with me. He knows my timetable, even the muffin delivery man at the bakery down the street knows my timetable. The tramp hovering in the stair well opposite, that I leave a pound on a Monday and a Friday, in hope he'll show me loyalty and not rob me in the darkness, knows my timetable. The police lingering expectantly in the shadows, speed gun in hand, know my timetable. Yet, this inconsiderate paranormal being, that has seen it fit to set up home in our flat, has decided to play at the most inconvenient of hours.
Still being in the throws of our honeymoon period I don't like to head to bed with hair on top, gum shields in and spot cream abound, but when the Fiancee is away I don my most thermal of bed shorts and jump into slumber sporting this very ensemble. Having watched some MTV tedium, another activity I engage in at full throttle when my Fiancee isn't in town (regularly engulfing myself in a tidal wave of Kardashian's and Real House Wives), I hit the lights, and yes, you guessed it, it is pre 9pm.
Dreaming pleasantly of various teeth falling out and catching my feet on fences as I try to fly away from a rabid dog I am woken suddenly (I'm told such dreams are signs of deep disturbance but I view them with vague amusement.....Of course I am deeply disturbed, I am a trader). He's back, the phantom TV switcher. The TV goes on, I turn if off. 5 minutes passes and it goes on, I get angry at this point and say (in a very controlled and amiable manner in an attempt to reason with Paranormal Pete) "please I am trying to sleep". 10 minutes later, having been lulled into a false sense of slumbersome security, it goes on again. This time, fuelled by despair, anger and a modicum of delirium I yell "For christ sake ghost, please stop, I don't sleep as it is, You try getting up at bloody 5am (at this point I am blot upright and wagging my finger frantically into the air ... I mean WTF are you playing at".... only then do i realise this is out loud and into the darkness that is my bedroom, a faint orchestra of cars horns acting as a backing track.
As I settle back to bed I can't help thinking.... Does this job effect me? Am I as anti social at times as my Fiancee has been known to delicately point out. My conclusion, NO I am just bloody tired.
Goodnight ghost....
Miss McArbitrage.
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