Have just been woken (1.45am) by a most tremendouse crash which had me jumping out of bed and tearing downstairs as though all the devils in Hell were after me.
A bit of an extravagent reaction I admit, but also my usual one to any odd nightime disturbance. My husband sensibly, used to take his time listen to hear whether the noise was repeated, then torch (kept beside his bed) in hand creep downstairs as quietly as his size 12 slippers would allow.
Being of a less relaxed temperament, my instinct is always to act first, then think, if at all, later.
He always said "wait, it's better to know what is in the house before charging in, all guns blazing". Right of course, just not my way.
On most occasions it would prove to be some minor accident, particularly when we had cats, like a stool being knocked over, or a shelf losing a book or two, but on one memorable night a fox got in through the cat flap and was chased all round the sitting-room before escaping the way he got in. We saw it flying up the garden absolutely terrified while our two mogs fur standing on end and equally terrified stared at us as though we were the intruders.
Tonight, finding nothing out of order downstairs I returned up the stairs looking everywhere for a clue and discovered in the bathroom, lying on the floor on the shower...............I really ought to leave it here and leave you guessing, the self-adhesive (alleged) hand-grip which had come 'unstuck' from the tiles.
What an anti-climax! Nerves too jangly to go back to sleep (after about only 3/4 of an hours sleep anyway) decided to get it out of my system here.
Why is it always night-time when these inanimate objects decide to exercise their right to misbehave?