I was having a lovely dream about ballerinas (no idea why, never liked ballet or watched ballet) when Mark decided to wake me and tell me the news from outside the cottage.
"A car almost crashed into next door's house!"
Suddenly, pink tutus and arabesque positions (I cheated, I Googled that position, it's when the dancer stands on one leg and looks v elegant) vanished. Instead, my head was filled with visions of next door's house crumbling at the foundations.
I then realised the bedroom was full of flashing blue lights, streaming through the white blinds. What on earth was occurring whilst I was busy dreaming?
I staggered out of bed, peered through the blinds and almost shouted at Mark, "My God, how did I sleep through that! What the heck has happened?"
Outside our bedroom window there was carnage. A car was abandoned in the middle of the road. There were police cars and neighbours everywhere.
Apparently, the car had smashed into a parked car outside next door but one, spun around in the middle of the road, hit another car, narrowly missed our car, then crashed into the back of next door's car which was parked on their driveway, which had nudged their car forward and narrowly missed exploding into their house and outside gas box. The driver of the car had fled the scene and was nowhere to be seen.
This was all too much to take in from behind the bedroom blinds. I followed Mark downstairs and we joined the other neighbours, gaping at the abandoned car.
"Oh it's so exciting!"
This was the seven year old girl's voice from next door. Well I'm guessing she is seven and at seven years of age you can be forgiven for thinking your house almost ruined, your mother's car a write-off, a potential death, and a maybe nearly dead driver is exciting.
Her mother did not look excited, she looked shocked, horrified. I hadn't really spoken to her before but I kept asking if she was okay. I couldn't think of anything else to say.
Everyone speculated on the driver. Off his head on drink/drugs probably. Must have stolen the car. By the damage, he'd been travelling at a heck of a speed. I wonder where he fled to and what his injuries were?
Mark and I kept quietly stating and reassuring each other that it could have been worse. And how lucky were we that our car was without a single scratch. When we looked at the sorry state of the other cars, we couldn't help but feel relieved.
It was a funny old night. I remembered feeling slightly embarrassed that I was still dressed in my pyjamaas and then realised half the street were. And we all kind of bonded. People I had never spoken to before spoke to me. We cracked jokes and comforted each other.
And then when it seemed nothing could be resolved, the driver was still on the loose, and the car had been towed away for evidence, we all trickled off to our separate homes. Probably never to see or speak to each other again.
I was yawning. I was tired. It was late.
I almost crawled back into bed, snuggled under the duvet, closed my eyes, and waited for sleep to take over.
Then I realised I was wide awake, thinking about cars and crashes. Dream land and ballerinas were far, far away. I longed to relive ballerinas performing demi-ronds (half circles - amazing what you learn on Google) but alas they had danced their way out of my imagination.
I couldn't sleep.
Don't ya just hate it when that happens?