Four You.

Opened my eyes an looked at the bedside clock.

04:50.

No chance, I thought. Not this morning. Rolled over, went back to sleep. Being a 'lucid dreamer' all my life, I was glad to get back into the deep snow and howling winds and finish tinkering with a few loose boards on the hut we've spent the last few months building.

Stamping the snow off my boots on the step, I unwrapped and threw my cloak onto hook behind the door. As usual, a pan of tea simmered on the glowing pot bellied stove, glancing briefly at my forever-faceless friend snoring gently on the bottom bunk on my left. I was glad of their company.

Imagine having 'Hagrid' from Harry Potter around, but forever seeing the back of his head. The stove is often lit and welcoming, and often, as I trudge across the rickety frozen bridge as I approach the little cabin, I can catch he/she/it methodically chopping wood, or clearing the snow from the door.

Never a word. But always, there's tea, or a hearty soup on the stove.

I pulled the ladle from the rich dark brew into a obligatory white tin cup with a boy-blue trim? Mind you, that's as bad as asking why it's always night here. One of life's little mysteries that aren't, in any circumstances, meant to be solved, eh?

I glanced at the ornate golden chained pocket watch in my waist coat pocket. It said

04:50

A well thumbed Jane Eyre from under the three-tier bunk on the right, piping hot tea in fingerless gloves, and warm floorboards under a numb bum, while the wind howled outside and icy snow crackles against diminutive windows, in a loved warm glow.

I turned the page. "Where the Northern Ocean, in vast swirls, boils around naked melancholy isles...."

Snap. Oh, bugger. The clock said

04:50.

Not going to win, Dray old chap. Sigh. I sat on the edge of the bed for a min to get my head together. It's always a bit of a jolt leaving 'that' world for this.

Dressing gown on, wobbled into the bathroom, cleans tooth, grumbling because some chuff had left the bathroom light and fan on. Monkey swung downstairs. "Dray, is that you?" Yes Dear. You'd be so lucky. Humph. Hit the kitchen, filled the kettle, lit the gas, glanced at the clock on the cooker.

The clock said

04:50.

Wombled into living room. An all-arms-and-legs. Tots had fallen asleep on the couch, kicked her quilt off, and left the Tv on all night. Sky news. Blimey. Not Hanah Mantana then. Wow! I glanced at the bottom left of the frozen screen. Bloom'n Sky box. The clock said.

04:50

Chucked the quilt over her, untangled her arms and legs and tucked her in, gently. No mean feat. The kettle howled on the cooker, so a PG in a cup, popped in a sweetener, and frowned at the cooker clock. It said

04:50

A deep dark brew in hand, in the obligatory dribble proof cup, with a Tots snoring quietly with her back to me. The wind is rattling the bamboo 'Welcome' chimes in the garden, and there's bright Moon through the back window. I'm glad of the company.

It's 04:51.