"Ladies and gentlemen, the train now standing at platform 1 is just having a little snooze and will be leaving just as soon as it is ready. We apologise for the inconvenience."
I would like to be more inconvenient but my head conditioner thinks that waking up at 6.30 every morning is the thing to do. I have tried giving myself a good talking to, turning the foul alarm off and staying awake until the wee small hours - but my mind is a temple to the Holy Timetable and suggests that Saturday morning should be savoured from the start.
Before children (B.C) my body overruled my work ethic, leaving me to catch up on the missing sleep and make the repairs necessary for a line-free face. What happened?
The Holy Timetable is responsible, of course. That inner git who can't remember that it is Saturday and that the worky constraints of the week have been lifted. It thinks I want to get up and do a spot of home work.
Big Fecker has no trouble sleeping through a number of meals (hoovering, house demolition, end of the world etc) and rising just in time to enjoy the sunset. When exactly did I lose this talent? When did I kick this wonderful habit and replace it with a need to experience the dawn of a Saturday morning?
I am therefore placing a hex, an embargo, a giant sized fatwa on Saturday mornings - any suggestions, apart from the use of illegal drugs (well...) will be gratefully received.