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Right. Bedtime.
Have been up waiting to see if the burgalar alarm would go off again.
As it was doing from about 23.00 onwards.
After much distress and hair pulling I finally got an engineer on the phone who gave me some useful advice. Which was very good of him as it wasn't his alarm and he wouldn't have got a penny for the call. Previous calls to the police, the council, the electricity board and the alarm manufacturers were less fruitful. As were the calls to HM, away at a festival.
Not sure how he'll feel when he sees the mess I made of the alarm panel. But the outside alarm only stopped about 30 minutes ago, and given that our neighbours have a toddler and a child on the way (not to mention the rest of the street - oh, and me!) I figure he can deal with it when he gets back. Also, the reason he couldn't help is that he has forgotten the code - it's been so long since he used it. Which to me suggests he won't be too miffed.
Why Sunday? Why always Sunday?
I was so looking forward to a quiet night. For once since I started work.
No HM inviting people round to play guitar until gone 03.00.
No HM coming home pissed and deciding to climb through the skylight into my room rather than knock on the front door having forgotten his keys (last week).
Monday is my only 12 hour working day in the week. Why always Sunday?
Sleep. Sleep now. Night night.
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