Another Sunday morning approaches the vacant streets of Willesden Green.
The first hint of dawn bathes a ground floor bedroom in pale blue light dispelling the sepia tones imprinted by the street lamps the night before.
Outside a pigeon's rhythmic cooing is momentarily muted by the thump, THUmp, THUMP of a car's sound system pounding down the oblivious street.
Only the window panes rattle in protest.
Inside the bedroom, the sun's fingers curl around the curtain gaps and stroke the outdated furnishings and records crammed on flimsy DIY shelves.
Shadows tango on the wall above the queen sized divan.
Yet the couple's slumber remains untouched by the gentle intrusion of this Summer morning.
She briefly stirs feeling secure in the awareness of her partner sleeping beside her.
Then out of the silence a harsh damnation ....
She startles; heart beats coalesce in her tightening throat. Regaining her breath she prods her partner in the back. No movement. His sleep continues unshaken. Uninvited thoughts flood her vulnerable mind. Is he talking about me? I thought we were happy? What have I done wrong? He hates women ....
And then ....
Fold? Confused and trying not to laugh she resettles herself under the duvet and dozes in a warm reassurance until the jarring sound of the alarm awakens both of them.
It transpires that Younger Dad had been dreaming about a particularly frustrating poker game. One in which he had been roundly beaten by a female opponent.
Does your partner talk in their sleep?