bedroom

The queerest thing. I woke up one morning and instead of being pinned to my pillow by the neon scarlet Westfield sign tearing holes in my retinas, my bedroom was enveloped in a silky morning mist hanging gently over the eastern side of the Cape Peninsula. If, in the middle of the night, my bed were to be carried just 10ft along a horizontal plane by the BFG, I'd be sharky's breakfast.

Strangely, the mist only goes and gets itself trapped among the mountains (silly, silly mist), so by 10am the bay resembles a snow blizzard at 1850. Today we slid the balcony doors shut just in time before our sitting room was eaten by a cloud.

Giraffe likes to hang his head over the balcony and feel the breeze in his soft horns but it scares the neighbours, so I've told him that he's only allowed to do it out of the bathroom window which looks out onto the bins.

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