He just fell head first down the gap at the head of the bed.

“No! Don’t go down there! What are you doing?!”

I rescue him, grasping his feet and hauling him out of the dandruff-dusty crevasse. He looks back at me with an aggrieved expression, dignity bruised.

As the smell of bacon and coffee drifts in from neighbouring flats, Teddy and I hatch a plan for the day, involving honey and more sleep. And maybe a bit of bumbling around. It’s so exciting, that after planning we both need a little nap.

In my dream, we’re dribbling maple syrup onto a trampoline-sized stack of buttery pancakes. Crispy bacon showers from the sky, and gusts of blueberries pelt down like hail. My fork’s the size of an oar, and yet I still manage to row the fabulous melange into my morning mouth, syrup escaping and dribbling down my chin.

Teddy’s looking a little sceptical, and is busy in a corner with a large spoon and a bucketful of set honey.

Each to their own, I reckon. Bounty is here.

Waking now, I find my ten minute timer has still not expired, and I cast around for some waking reality to write.  Will the beep-beep-beep, beep-beep-beep of the Android phone alert us both that real breakfast, with real-sized cutlery, is here and now?

I stall and procrastinate…

Still waiting…

25 seconds to go…

Yawn… Ooohhghh…

Beep-beep-beep.