Why do the birds have to be so loud?! They must know it’s the morning. They must know that the sight of Mr. Rakes delivering the post doesn’t mean that everyone else is up yet. It’s Saturday and on Saturday I deserve a proper lie-in.

I hadn’t even opened my eyes when I realised it was going to be one of those days. I don’t often dread a day before I am even out of bed but today was an exception; if only I had stayed dreaming, lying on that sand being irritated by those beach sellers.

So my eyes were still closed and I was squeezing them tight in the vain hope I’d be able to slip back to the Bahamas but apparently that wasn’t going to happen. What was going to happen instead was that I would feel a cold, wet drip on my nose about every 3 seconds.

I knew straight away it was the water tank again. Our roof couldn’t have blown off, the winds weren’t quite that bad last night and even I am not that unlucky. But why does the water tank have to start leaking; it surely doesn’t serve enough purposes to break down. And why does the water have to come right through the ceiling; it’s just means more to fix.

Maybe this is how my life will be from now on; something bad happens and all my energy goes towards getting it sorted. I genuinely think I get enough bad luck for three people. I should be able to offload some of it to one of those surly teenagers I see in town all the time; they could do with a bit of bad luck now and again.

I guess it was my fault really; I knew about this last weekend and managed to convince myself that maybe if I waited long enough it would sort itself out.

I looked over at Joan who was sleeping on the side of the bed usually reserved for me. She was still dead to the world and snoring louder than she usually does. I swear one day I am going to record her nasal racket and play it back to her to wake her up; it would only be fair as my eardrums have to suffer it on a daily basis.

She’d told me last night she wouldn’t sleep on her side if there was even the slightest chance she would wake up being dripped on. But apparently it’s ok for that to happen to me. I was half-way down the stairs when I decided Joan would benefit from at least feeling what it was like to wake up with a wet nose. I promised myself I wouldn’t let it drip in her eyes, that would be plain unfair. I got back into our room and was faced with a choice. Do I move Joan to the other side of the bed or do I push the bed itself so she’s under with the drip?

After realising how much of an earful I would get if she woke to find the bed in a different place to usual, I decided I would attempt to slide her to the other side. At least by moving her I get to deny all knowledge and tell her she must have moved while she was asleep.

Before walking downstairs to make breakfast I turned back to watch a droplet of water hang from the ceiling, get larger and larger and eventually fall and splash right on the end of her still snoring nose.

I made a sharp exit.