Dawn Chorus

I feel like a zombie. Brain freeze. India was awake at 02:20 this morning and decided she didn’t want to go back to sleep until 05:00. Having your 9 month old rapping the devil’s tattoo on your headboard, when you’ve got to go to work in two hours time, isn’t half as fun as she apparently thinks it is. To make matters worse India broke into a vivid dream I was having, one that was undoubtedly being used by my subconscious to deal with things bothering me:

I went to see my Gran in hospital yesterday – she was fine apart from a tube up her nose designed to stop her from choking to death on her own vomit. The dream featured me at her house doing jobs like tiding up the vast numbers of boxes of biscuits hidden in a carpeted dugout under the bed – a bit like a mechanics pit under a car. They were the sort of biscuits old people get given by distant relatives at Christmas and each brand of biscuit was neatly arranged in rows. I know that I was about to reach an important bit of the dream – and a release of pent-up subconscious chaos - when India kicked-off.