My peaceful mornings are over.
Cast your minds back to when we had that lovely power outage that lasted two days. The highlight of the whole experience was that for some unknown reason, the bells in the church tower got zapped and blissful silence reigned. No ringing of the bells, the bells, the bells and no singing of the Typhon at 7 am.
Imagine my angst when deep in the basement Wednesday afternoon, I heard the familiar ringing, telling me it was 2 pm.
"Oh NO! They're back! I've only got 5 hours till he starts howling!"
I stressed and grumbled and promptly at 7:05 pm, when the evening Evangelise started, I bolted out the door with my water bottle ready to squirt. Typhon looked up at me and howled under his breath. I could see the gleam in his eyes. He knew what the bells meant. It was his chance to release that inner opera star that had been tucked away for the last few weeks and as soon as my back was turned, he gave Pavarotti a run for his money.
My blissful days of lounging in bed till 7:30 am are well and truly over. The infamous 100 yard dash down the stairs to stop the opera baratone from waking my neighbours has recommenced in ernest.
Of course, the irony is that today, I was ready. Watching the clock from 7:01am, positioning myself next to the door so that at 7:05 exactly, I could stop him before he really got going. And guess what? The big lump decided to sleep in.
I am cursed by the bells, the bells, the ringing of the bells!