Dear Santa

There is something special about being awoken from a night’s slumber by the twittering and callings of the dawn chorus. You can either yawn, turn over, and wrap yourself in the soft warm quilt knowing that you have a few hours yet before having to get up, or you can have a good stretch and stick one leg out tentatively in preparation for encouraging the rest of your body to follow suit - until you find yourself in a rather shocked standing position.

Neither of those applied to me when I woke up yesterday morning. I was greeted by the very contented sounds of the duo next to me, and there I lay - somewhat dazed - as my very own dawn chorus built to a crescendo with one of those involuntary whistles from the bearded one (I can only liken the sound to a whistling kettle when it alerts you that it has reached boiling point). Then slowly – and quietly at first - the puffings, snortings and snores of the man and his dog increased in volume until they snortled in a plethora of harmonies that put even The Beach Boys to shame.

We all know that Pru cannot really help it due to her harshly bred facial features. And the bearded one’s quick excuse? “Not my fault – the dog had me pinned down in the wrong position.”

Item one on my Christmas wish list: one pair of heavy-duty ear plugs.