I stumbled from the bedroom, bleary eyed and still half asleep.
‘Mummy, juice mummy, I want a juice mummy.’
‘Cartoons mummy, the cartoons mummy, want cartoons mummy.’
I carried on, my trajectory clear. The kettle. No-one was getting anything until I’d had my cup of tea. I flicked the kitchen lights on and filled the kettle. I set it on its base and flicked the switch, the pleasing sizzle of water warming, soon coming from it.
‘Mummy, juice mummy.
‘Umm. Minute.’ I managed, watching the kettle. Cup in hand.
Flick. It went dark. The kettle stopped sizzling, the lights went out.
‘Wha? No!’ I flicked the light switch feebly. Nothing. ‘Noo!!’ A power cut. Great.
I need a cup of tea in the morning. I cant manage the demands of these little dictators without having first scolded my mouth whilst curled up on the sofa for 5 minutes of quiet before the day starts.
10 minutes later, sulking at the kitchen table, sans tea, the lights came on again. A steady flick, flick, flick echoed around the house as various appliances turned themselves on, the kettle one of them, and I could hear the sizzle start again in the kitchen. I breathed a deep sigh and relaxed. All was right with the world once more.
And then ‘flick.’ Off it went again.
The next 30 minutes were filled with peaks and troughs of my hopes building and then being dashed again as the lights came on and the water warmed a little more, and then everything went off. I was getting close to breaking point. I was starting to twitch. I was actually considering having a warm cup of tea with the not nearly boiling water in the kettle.
‘Right, bugger this.’ I did what any sane person would do after being kept waiting for over 40 minutes for their first cup of tea of the morning.
I got the camping stove out.