Everyone in the house was woken at 5:15 this morning by little brother singing his own version of Jingle Bells. He’s only 75cm tall but has the lung capacity of a sea lion. And the voice to match.
I had been having an amazing dream. It was lovely and quiet on the moon. I could hear my own breathing on the inside of my goldfish bowl helmet but pretty much nothing else. I was building an igloo from giant space Lego and I was able to bounce up in the air and do a summersault without whacking my head off the ground like normal.
There were no interruptions. Until. What’s that sound? Is it a message floating out from a distant star? Are alien angels coming to take me to their amazing play planet? Hang on – it sounds a bit like Jingle Bells.
I looked out into space, wondering if Santa would appear on a booster propelled sledge with a huge sack of presents (the ones he had forgotten to give me including the shark-rocket-goo-blaster I had written to him about) but my eyes cracked open and I was staring into the one glassy eye of Frogo the Frog while my ears were filled with the noise of a foghorn wrestling with a goose.