Harefield Gazette - - YOUR SAY - Ev­ery week BAR­BARA FISHER looks at is­sues that af­fect us all – the is­sues that get you talk­ing. You can join in by email­ing bmail­bar­

MR F and I went to see a ter­rific am­a­teur per­for­mance of The Deep Blue Sea by Ter­ence Rat­ti­gan in Bea­cons­field.

Know­ing I would get an ex­tra hour’s sleep, as the clocks were go­ing back, I stayed up to watch the late film Fly­ing Blind with He­len McCrory,

So, when I woke early at 7am and couldn’t get back to sleep I was se­ri­ously miffed. Worse: I then re­mem­bered I hadn’t al­tered the be­d­room clock be­fore nod­ding off, so I was still stuck on sum­mer time. It was there­fore of­fi­cially only 6am – and very dark. So much for a lie-in.

What made mat­ters worse was that, while I stomped about down­stairs, Mr F was snooz­ing up­stairs, hap­pily at one with the uni­verse and its new timetable.

While wait­ing for the ket­tle to boil, I glanced out of the win­dow. In sum­mer time, which I, and the kitchen clock were still on, it was 8am and now light.

I didn’t at first no­tice the black and grey cat hav­ing an early morn­ing drink from the pond. Then I saw the fox. It was star­ing hun­grily through the bars of our gar­den gate at its po­ten­tial break­fast - a cat­burger.

The fe­line spot­ted him and froze, then de­fi­antly car­ried on drink­ing, oc­ca­sion­ally look­ing back to check the fox wasn’t about to in­vade its per­sonal space. Or worse.

At about the same time that the young fox worked out he could make him­self small enough to squeeze un­der our gate, I re­alised he could prob­a­bly also push his way through our cat flap.

The fox wrig­gled un­der the gate suc­cess­fully, mak­ing him­self so flat he should have re­sem­bled one of those card­board cut-outs in Tom and Jerry car­toons. He be­gan sniff­ing plants, prob­a­bly to go with his planned break­fast. The cat, quick as a flash, had bolted on to the fence.

I rushed up­stairs, shout­ing for help with lock­ing the cat flap, un­for­tu­nately some­thing I’ve never mas­tered.

Com­pletely dis­ori­en­tated by the rude awak­en­ing, Mr F stag­gered down­stairs with his eyes half closed, locked the cat flap, an­nounced that the fox had gone – and the cat was still safely on top of the fence – and crawled back to bed where he was soon fast asleep again. Talk about cool for cats. I felt as though I’d al­ready done a day’s work. But it was Sun­day. And – oh Lordy – it was still only 8am in ‘real’ (win­ter) time.


Break­fast plans

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