Night-time bump and lumps

There's nothing quite like settling down between the covers after a full day. Your head rests comfortably on the pillow while frogs serenade you to.... sitting upright, wide-awake and reaching for the panic button.
No, not because of the frogs, but because of man's best friend - a border collie/alsation cross to be specific.
I have one of those; got it with the house - long story for another day. Anyhoo, said best friend of man is not known for her incessant barking (thank goodness), so when she is on alert, so am I.
Reluctantly shrugging off warm blankets I listen, running through the mental checklist of 'sounds I think a burglar might make'.
Footsteps... no
Glass smashing.... no
Baboon barks... no
Yelps from thief... no
Yet the dog carries on barking, and can now definitely be categorised not as 'there's a stranger on my yard I want to eat alive', but rather as 'help, help, i'm sure, there's something unusual outside'.
Yes, ask any dog owner; you soon learn your pooch's vocab so to speak.
Still hesitant I peak through all the windows first, trying to see the splattered entrails of a would-be trespasser. And thanks to an all too vivid imagination and too many crime-stories, I have visions of an armed assailant lurking on my steps waiting for me to throw the door open and rush out to save faithful doggy.
Yeah, right.
After more peeking, listening (a difficult task considering the dog is still giving excited yelp-barks) I edge the front door open to find the dog bouncing madly around a dark grey furball.
Concern for dog now turns into concern for poor furry and I rush downstairs to save the rabbit/kitten/bird/tribble. As I reach the bottom step the dog gives an almighty yelp and jumps away....the not-so-helpless furry has just scored a direct hit! Blood dripping form her jaw, the dog now stands cautiously to one side to watch me tackle this prime example of gremlinhood.
Turns out to be a rather large mole with a lifewish second to none.
Paralysing it in my spotlight (read tiny torch) I give it a once-over for any sign of trauma. It blinks at me in a slit-eyed yet satisfied manner, and I swore I saw it grin at me.
Mole 1, dog 0 ... I can almost hear it think.
Well, I was not about to trifle with such a determined survivor, so I grab the dog by the scruff intent on dragging her upstairs while giving the mole a getaway chance. I stepped forward, only to be yanked backward by a severely immobile dog. The look in her eye clearly states that she is not about to walk past that mad little killer; who knows what other tender bits it might take a bite at next.
By this time I am chilly customer; I take my night-time rest seriously, and running around outside in winter in my pyjamas is not my idea of a fun time. With more effort I manage to drag the dog around the far side of the mole; quite a site as the dog kept turning to face the mole while we moved. Finally reaching the safety of the stairs she dashes up, leaving me to firmly close the gate in the mole's still sniggering face.
And yes, I did check my pooch out as well. Bled like a champion from a facial wound, but managed to scarf down her doggy treats this morning. Somehow I think she'll live.
As the for the mole... didn't see it this morning. But next time I'm pulling at weeds I'll keep an ear out for that self-satisfied snigger.

Hotel horrors

There's nothing quite like the thrill of opening your hotel door for the first time to see what exactly lies behind it. In some cases there should be the inevitable squeak of violins in staccato rhythm (shower curtain optional) as you ease open the door.
All right, so not all hotel stays can be equated to horror movies, but there is a certain element of similarity. The cheerful and bright opening scenes, the venture down long lonely corridors, the creaking of a slowly opened door... not to mention mysterious night-time thuds and bumps. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

So there I was all packed off on a business trip and checking into a hotel that would be my home for the next 5 days. All seemed bright and shiny (doesn't it always) in the foyer... and then my first clue - no lift.
No problem, only one floor to go up and I kept a determined smile on my face as I thumped my way up the stairs one at a time. This was due to the rather heavy suitcase I was dragging behind me - yes, I pack like a girl, including my heavy-duty pillow filled with buckwheat. Handy for punching into a sleep-friendly shape and as a last-ditch weapon should anyone sneak up on me. I pity the fool who challenges me to a pillow fight...snigger ::rubs hands together in villainous way::

After hiking down a loooong corridor, I reached the oh-so-innocent door of nr 34. Easing the door open is like unwrapping a gift; would it contain something I wanted or something I'd just be politely thankful for? Would there be a bath & shower? Would it be twin beds or a luxurious double? And probably most importantly... would there be a kettle?!?

Since a trip in Germany where I had to face mornings sans my 1st-thing-in-the-day cuppa, I've been pathetically grateful every time I find a hotel room equipped with basic coffee / tea making equipment. And yes, I did blubber joyfully when I spotted not only one of those cutesy half-sized kettles, but also some decent quality instant coffee, milk & tea!

But I was being lulled into a false sense of joy...

The shower curtain turned out to be just that, offering more the illusion of separation rather than actual water-proofing. I only found that when I stepped out of the bath-tub and into an ankle-deep puddle on the floor. I sincerely hoped the floor was well sealed, and that I hadn't created a water feature in the downstairs room. But my fears were for nothing, as it turned out that my room was directly above a - you'd never guess it - pub! Yes, I kid you not.
I found this out on Wednesday Live Music Night, when the items on my bedside table ever so gently bopped around to 'piano man', 'alice' and probably inevitably... 'Hotel California'. Live music was followed by live entertainment when a full-blown screaming match broke out below the window around closing time. I sure hope poor John finally got rid of Charlotte, whom he apparently just found out had been warming more than just his bed! Admittedly it was a bit hard to garner any sympathy from my side at that time of the morning.

But like all horror movies, my stay also came to an end. After the inevitably nervous scouring of the room to see whether I had somehow left behind anything, I wheeled my suitcase out into the sunrise, ready to brave the next adventure.