3 ... 2 ... 1 ...

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I had a lovely couple of days with my Mumma. We didn't actually do anything; shopping, chatting and cake-eating made up the majority of the two days. But it was relaxing, and the cats didn't get the pleasure of pawing me in the face in the early hours of the morning. I love my Mum. When I came home last night Husband and I settled down to watch this weekend's episode of The Walking Dead. Well, I don't know if you {still} watch it {it is a tad rubbishy these days, with too many guns; I wonder what a British version would be like? We're probably all living in harmony,} but there came a moment where Negan counts down ... 3 ... 2 ... 1 ... BOOM!!! Our electric went off, plunging the house into darkness. I was laughing so hard I could barely find my way to the kitchen to find our little torch. Turning the tellybox recording on ten seconds earlier or later wouldn't have had the same effect. Bizarre and funny, and a little spooky, all rolled into one little ball of joviality. The world is surreal when plunged into darkness. So very dark. I don't realise how much I rely on finding comfort from other people's lights shining in their windows, or the glimpses of their tellybox through chinks in their curtains, or streetlights, or even the lights people have outside their homes, until it all goes off. No fear, it came back on a minute later. I do love a bit of light pollution.