To sleep, perchance to dream

I'm not sure where it's nerves of excitement, but sleep and I are struggling to get it together at the moment. Of course Mr Jones isn't helping.

The night before last I'd just drifted off and must have been slipping silently into a blissful deep sleep when all of a sudden the nerves in every inch of my body sprang into action as I realised with spine tingling sensation that someone was watching me (I'm a bit paranoid and sensitive about people watching me sleep ever since a man climbed through my window in London - but that's a tale for another day).

My eyes flashed open and were confronted by the sight of Mr Jones' nose about an inch from my own. "What on earth are you doing?"

"I want a kiss," he demands sleepily - planting me with a big stubble covered smacker that prevents me breathing in for more time than is comfortable.

"Err right - I was asleep, thanks" (Sorry if this seems ungrateful and terribly unromantic but I am quite tired)

He jousles me round and traps me in a hot and humid bear hug which I am unable to escape from as he slips into a snore filled slumber. I lie there wide eyed wondering if I have enough ribbon and whether I'll look nice in my dress. An hour later I'm still awake.

At 4am - after perhaps four hours sleep I'm awake again, worrying about the weather. When Mr Jones snores his way back into consciousness at 7.30am I confront him about his amorous advances. "Did I? OOps sorry - must have been dreaming."

I resist the urge to punch him - all that and he can't even remember it!