Harvestman

Best thing this weekend was going to bed early.

I had to close the bedroom window because the young 'uns outside can only communicate in loud hoots and screeches.

God Bless 'em!

To drown out the din, I put on Chet in Paris to just lie and listen to with the light on.

And, halfway through Dear Old Stockholm, who should come scuttling across the sheets than an old, long-legged friend?

And he stopped at the pillow next to mine, and did a sort of wobbly dance on time to the music.

And he had bright white knees.

And I know he looks like a Martian when you look at him with a magnifying glass; he keeps his eyes on either side of a rotating turret.

He grooved to the Chet Baker for half a minute, then disappeared behind the edge of the bed.