The night was dark and the bedroom was darker, owing to the thick red velvet curtains at the windows. It was one of those airless hot nights that make you kick off the bedclothes. Wearing only a camisole and pants, I slept spreadeagled on the bottom sheet; my arms were akimbo on the pillows as I dreamt of deserts and ice-cold beer (possibly, I can’t really remember).

Suddenly, I was awakened by something cold and clammy on my underarm – just for a moment. Then it happened again. In that split second between sleep and full consciousness I conjured a cane toad (not unlike the one I saw outside on the grass as nightfall fell) hopping back and forth from the bed to my underarm. Now, as you might imagine, I didn’t think to kiss the cane toad prince – I nearly jumped to the ceiling! Poor Doris, the pretty grey cat in my care, leapt from the bed and high-tailed it back to her usual bed of choice.

In a more respectable hour of morning, when sunlight found its way through the chinks in the curtains, Boris Doris returned and woke me with a lick on my cheek. A welcome breeze has filled the house and soon I’ll be out cycling in the sunshine.