The LTLP sits upright in bed.
“What was that?” she demands.
“Felt like an earthquake,” I reply.
Despite living in a cottage that has been partially rebuilt by the Methodical Builder, I am not unduly alarmed. The experience is interesting and unusual, but I don’t think that it is the end of the world or the beginnings of a Russian nuclear attack. Everybody knows that the official advice should we be in danger of nuclear annihilation is to grab the nearest woman and make love to her vigorously, and I cannot believe that the Russians would be so heartless as to launch their plans at 1 a.m. when I am in bed with the LTLP.
Nevertheless I am a bit disappointed in the morning when there are not huge great cracks in the road that leads through the Village, and all essential services seem to be working tolerably. The BBC has set up a service whereby people who think it’s important to text that they heard a rumble then perhaps looked outside to see what was happening can do so, their texts being displayed upon a special web page. This seems an excellent idea to stop such people breeding for five minutes or so. But otherwise the country seems to be functioning normally.
As a child I remember being strangely disappointed that Britain did not have earthquakes or floods or hurricanes like in places like South America; clearly as an adult my views have moved on from there. But South America does not have Strategic HR Initiatives or the Jeremy Kyle show, so who is to say which place is worse off?
I plan to walk to the Village Shop shortly; I shall be disappointed if the pork pies have not got through. We have not had such excitement round here for a long time. I will look forward to telling the Village Shop Man that I heard a rumbling noise – I will be annoyed if he trumps my story by having heard the rumbling noise AND looked outside.