Things that go bump in the night have never been a particular concern.
Sure, I spent a night or two peeking out from underneath the covers when somebody mentioned the potential existence of the wardrobe monster.
And there were times, when living in the middle of a terraced row, when a slammed door three houses down would occasionally rouse me from my deep slumber.
But generally the only thing that causes me to lose sleep these days is the Tawny Owl which spends the summer in the tree outside my bedroom window.
Hardly an eyelid was batted this week when something went thump, some time around midnight.
After all it’s been jolly windy of late (on top of the fact it’s been raining since September) – causing the letterbox to rattle and all sorts of creaks and groans, some of them not coming from yours truly.
Perhaps, on this occasion I should have paid more attention.
The morning routine is pretty much the same every day – crawl out of bed, put the kettle on, let the dog out.
It’s to the errant Spaniel’s credit that, having been flung out in the calm after the storm she chose not to do a runner.
Had she finished her breakfast she may well have decided to take herself for a walk in the park through the hole where the garden fence had once been.
As it was, there was clearly a crisis of doggy conscience going on as she stood considering a jailbreak.
I’m glad the worst didn’t happen – partly because I was a 36-year-old man wearing a Monsters Inc onesie and tatty slippers, and partly because before 9am I don’t have the energy for a chase.
What’s left of the fence has now been patched up and once the wind dies down (January? February? June?) a new one is set to be delivered.
In the meantime I’m watching the hound like a Colditz guard – and keeping ears open for any more bumps in the night.