The pillow had just shaped itself perfectly around my head; the duvet cocooned exactly how I like it.
The swirls of imagination inside my head had slowed.
My wife was silently turning the last virtual page on her Kindle.
A deep, soul restoring, sleep was inevitable and imminent.
This was last night, the time on the clock recorded that it was very nearly this morning.
“What was that?” We both asked each other, with the distinct hope that whomever knows the answer is clearly in charge of the situation and would therefore be the one that gets out of bed to sort it out. There had been a very loud smashing of glass – and it was close.
Something told me that this one was mine.
I brazenly looked out of the window to see the thing which I dread the most, a Youth! Right outside my house – on my road! Luckily it was alone and not part of a gang and luckier still it didn't see me. I don’t think it would have seen much anyway considering how drunk it was.
I checked around but could see no signs of damage to homes or cars that could explain the distinct noise that we’d heard. Was it just a coincidence that we’d heard smashing glass outside at the same time as an alcohol fuelled young person was passing? If it wasn't him, then what was it?
I bravely waited until the man had bounced and swayed himself out of sight, and then pottered out to have a look.
Under the dim street lights, the road outside looked like Simon Cowell's toilet roll cupboard, it had been layered in diamonds. It twinkled and sparkled so much that I thought for a moment that the stars, in their endless quest to be appreciated, had found a way to get past the light pollution.
Sadly, it was nothing so grand.
It was just glass. Lots of it.
I sighed. There was no way I could leave it. The road was absolutely strewn in a million tyre piercing shards right by, and indeed on, my drive. I fetched the broom.
A car came along, just as I started, and helpfully waited for me to clear a path for him to manoeuvre through. This was fine, because it was very obvious that the road was covered in glass.
However as time passed, I began to feel a little self-conscious. I could see the glass that still needed clearing, but perhaps the drivers couldn't. Perhaps the faces behind the curtain twitches couldn't.
And if that was the case then all they could see was me in a T-shirt, shorts**, and slippers, frantically sweeping the road at midnight. Quite clearly I looked mad as a box of frogs!
** It’s a very strange and disconcerting feeling when you start wearing pyjamas as an adult male. You find it very difficult to admit that this is what they are – so you have to tell yourself that they are actually shorts and not in any way, shape, or form, pyjamas. Something about the concept of wearing pyjamas reeks of either being a kid again or being very, very old – I don’t know why this is but I do know that, from the moment my kids started jumping in bed with us in the mornings, before I’d had chance to go for a morning visit to the toilet, I was just too uncomfortable without them. I won’t be going into any further detail than that, suffice to say it’s a gentleman thing.
And so I began feeling somewhat silly as I desperately tried to clear up the mess before anybody came walking past, staring at me like I'm an OCD, road sweeping, serial killer”.
And then I went back to the warmth of my duvet, knocking over something that clattered loudly as I tried to feel my way to the bed in the dark. My Wife turned and complained, “But I’m a God-damned glass-clearing hero!” I pointed out, expecting some form of respect or reward for my antics.
“Well, be a f***ing quiet one then, I'm trying to sleep!”
She takes a lot of impressing, that woman.