I know it was that time exactly because the first thing I remember seeing, after Mrs P elbowed me in the ribs, was the digital clock. There was, she whispered, a crime taking place outside our house.
Initially I was sceptical, believing Mrs P was merely exercising some retribution for me not cleaning the toilet earlier (Yes, it was my turn, but, as has happened in the last 467 times it has been my turn, something came up) and then I heard the noise too.
Some swine was using the basketball hoop at the front of our garage. We later discovered they'd broken it.
Now I'm all for sport and general participation. But at 1.57am? I think that's a little unreasonable. So I went to investigate, peering through a small gap in the curtains as the offenders ran off with their ball.
"Just kids," I said to Mrs P, who by this stage was back on the road to Deep Sleep Land. I clambered back into the Van Dyk's winter special and was headed in the same direction when I hear the sound of a bouncing ball.
The little sods were coming back.
In the pitch black, I hopped out of bed and promptly stubbed a toe on the chest of drawers. Hopping around I found my track pants and threw them on - back to front - then wrestled with the T shirt I'd discarded hours before. Again, it went on back to front.
While all this was occurring the game was afoot outside and the villains were taking it in turns to have a go at the basketball hoop. Uncomfortably dressed, I tiptoed across to the double-locked door and began the opening process.
We have lived in the house a little over a year. I have never been able to open the door. I have to get Mrs P to help. Luckily, the basketballers had disturbed her latest excursion in Deep Sleep Land and she got up to help.
By the time we had worked it out, the game was over, the stadium was empty and the basketballers had moved on.
Cheesed off, I got out of the back-to-front outfit and went back to bed, as did my angry wife. Then it happened a third time.
This time I got the gear on the right way and raced for the door from the lounge which is easier to open. On the way I stubbed my other toe on a chair and let out a howl which obviously scared the offenders off. By the time I got the door open and leapt out on the deck they were long gone and didn't come back.
I eventually drifted back off to sleep thinking of ways to track down the basketballers and inflict toe pain on them.
I needn't have worried. Mrs P sorted it.
The next day she was tired, irritable and out the back gardening when she heard the sound of a ball being bounced.
Quick as a flash she was off to confront four startled teenagers, possibly innocent but who cares, she was tired and ratty. Someone was going to cop it.
"Did you," she thundered, "break my basketball hoop!!!"
Now, in my humble experience, confronting four teenagers this directly is not a sensible thing to do. If it were me standing there in confronting mode the chances are I'd likely get some teen attitude in return and it would descend into something ugly.
Perhaps the fact that Briscoe's favourite customer was waving a garden trowel around and was practically hyperventilating with rage persuaded them to take their lumps. Which they did (innocent or not) before they slunk off.
Back inside, it took a nice glass of red wine to calm the raging bull down. So impressed am I with her previously hidden Don't-Mess-With-Me personality I am considering getting her to represent me in my next wage negotiations.
Either way, I think she deserves some sort of reward. Maybe I'll clean the toilet this weekend.
