Stranger on the sofa

I mean it's really getting beyond a joke, this inability of mine to snooze through for a solid seven hours.

True, I drop off all right after I've had my Horlicks, but then at about 2am I come instantly awake and stare at the ceiling until I nod off again, usually about three minutes before the alarm goes off.

I think I know what the problem is. It's that Dolly Parton.

Why doesn't she ever tell me that she loves me when I meet her in my dreams? After all, I'm one of those soppy romantics and I need the words.

But I promise you, if that woman doesn't make a commitment soon, I'm going to ditch her for Madonna.

Anyway, what was I telling you about? Oh, yes, I came downstairs and got a bit of a shock. For lying stretched out on the sofa was a strange man.

Suspecting he might be a gatecrasher who had somehow been left behind after our Christmas party, I decided to go through his pockets in the hope of finding some identification.

It didn't take me long to search him because the guy had only one pocket.

The stranger opened his eyes. "Stop fiddling with my pyjama top!"

"Sorry," I said. "I was just trying to get to know you."

"Aw, c'mon, dad. Get serious!" the stranger said.

"Son?" I said. "Is it really you? How come I didn't recognise you?"

"Because, dad, we never see each other these days. You're out when I'm in and vice versa."

I went to put the kettle on while my son climbed off the sofa, yawned and stretched.

"How do you like your coffee, son?" I called from the kitchen.

"Dad, we've been acquainted for 27 years. Don't you know by now?"

"Of course I do, son. You like it with cream and sugar...or is it black with no sugar?"

"Dad, I HATE coffee! I only drink tea."

"Of course you do, son. Er...is that with milk or lemon?"

I brought in the tray laden with two steaming mugs of beverage and a plate of ginger biscuits.

"I'm a bit baffled, son," I said.

"As usual, dad," my son sighed. "I'm puzzled about why you slept on the sofa last night. You know, son, if ever you want to stay the night there's a perfectly good bed in your old room. We've not changed a thing since you left home."

"I know, dad. But I NEVER left home. I still live here!"

I scratched my head. "Of course you do, son."

I poured milk, lemon, cream and sugar into my son's tea. "But why kip on the sofa?"

At which point my wife came hurtling down the stairs. She was ashen-faced.

"Did you know?" she gasped, "There's a strange man sleeping in our son's bed?"

"That's what I've been trying to tell you, parents," my son said. "I came home last night after going to the pictures with my fiancee and saw that my bed was already occupied. That's why I slept on the sofa."

"My goodness!" I exclaimed. "What film did you see and why didn't you invite me?"

"That's not the point," my son said. "Who's that sleeping in my bed?"

I went upstairs to investigate, shone my torch into the stranger's face and came back down again. "It's okay," I reassured everyone. "It's not a stranger. It's my Uncle Harry."

I turned to my lad. "So tell me, son, what movie did you watch? And what's this about a fiancee?"

"That's Georgina, dad. We're getting wed next year."

"That's news to me," I said.

"No it isn't," snapped my wife. "He told us 18 months ago."

"I can't remember everything," I said. "Anyway, he must have had a domestic dispute."

"Who has?" my wife and son chorused.

"My Uncle Harry. He must have had another row with my Auntie Gladys. They haven't hit it off since their wedding in 1937."

"So what's your Uncle Harry doing sleeping here?" my family asked.

"I'm afraid it's typical of the Silvers," I sighed. "Whenever they have a falling out with their spouses they march out of the house in high dudgeon. But they never have anywhere else to go.

"That's why I gave Uncle Harry our front door key after the last time he walked out and had to sleep in the park."

We were all silent for a moment. Then...

"There were dire consequences the last time they had a tiff," I said. "As Uncle Harry walked out the front door, Auntie Gladys stormed out through the back door and went to spend the night at her sister's.

"Of course, they unwittingly left the house wide open to intruders and when they both returned the next morning, two tramps were sleeping in their bed. All four of them fainted from shock and they spent the next night in hospital." There was a creaking noise on the stairs and Uncle Harry suddenly appeared.

"Hi, Uncle," I said. "Just in time for a cup of tea."

"I HATE tea," yawned Uncle Harry. "Any chance of a cup of coffee before I confront our Gladys?"

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