Woke up sweating buckets, and no wonder. I’d just been fighting off hoardes of pirate crocodiles (or could they have been aligators?) who were emerging from my wardrobe intent on eating me and my family.
The first one came out on the rampage when my dad was in the bathroom shaving. He didn’t take my screams for help to ward off the reptilian marauder seriously and carried on removing stubble from his chin while I stuffed anything I could lay my hands on down the crocs throat. Books, cds, a mop, Molly’s chewy toys, dirty underwear, all disappeared into the beast to no avail.
Ended up wedged in the doorway struggling to keep Crocs jaw from smashing shut around me while the rest of the motley bunch swung out through my wardrobe curtain bickering and swinging cutlasses.
Dad finished shaving just as Mum came out onto the landing to tell me off for waking her up with all the commotion. With lightening speed she ran to my assistance, grabbed and distributed the fantastic set of ultra sharp Japanese kitchen knives my brother once gave me for Christmas and the three of us set about finishing the pirate crew off. Snicker Snick, snapping rotten teeth crashed to the floor and Croc blood spilled.