Sometimes late at night I sleep...
Mr Nielson, better known as Sid and I, retire to bed at a very late hour.
Sid says it is like having a sleep-over every evening, and he is right; being alone in our room with Mr Nielson is my favourite place to be.
Until we sleep.
Lying next to my Mr Nielson in the dark quiet room seems to send a signal to my brain that encourages thought. Deep, prolonged thought. Thought that spans the universe and the back yard. Thought that sits out on the front porch rocking beneath a black sky. Thought that knocks at the front door, that fills the kettle for tea.
Sometimes, Thought quietens itself and at last, sweet sleep beckons.
This is when Mr Nielson starts to snore.
A tractor is more graceful, a chainsaw makes less noise. Chalk scraping against a blackboard illicits less chills.
Mr Nielson snores.
His repertoire is extensive. From small popping noises that are emitted through a tiny opening between compressed lips to a full throttle combine harvesting crescendo, Mr Nielson is the genius of snore.
I manage these small nightly disturbances with a repertoire of my very own. A gentle, 'No, darling please turn on your side.' is usually my opening gambit. This may lead to small nudges following by tiny kicks. A gentle hand placed over Mr Nielson's open mouth is also employed. I have been known to practically turn the man over onto his side myself.
I used to get very angry about this snoring business.
Then a girl I once knew, told me how she used to shout at her husband about his snoring, assuring him that her favourite evenings were when he was away on business so she could get a good nights sleep. That story ends sadly, suffice to say that now the poor girl sleeps alone and longs for the snoring husband she once dismissed.
So, once I have administered a few well targeted nudges and kicks I settle down for a good long think.
If sleep comes, when it comes it's a bonus....
11 hours ago