If I did that this morning, I think it would be to strangle it. Having been brought to consciousness by a dream in which I was searching for a loo on a crowded train -obviously to alert me to the fact a trip to the loo in real life would be a good idea (!)- I eventually clambered back into bed shortly after the dreaded Four O'clock In The Morning (witching hour for insomniacs) and switched on BBC World Service, in the hope I'd be lulled back to sleep.
No such luck; the subject under discussion was Money, or rather Britain's lack of it - guaranteed to keep anybody wide awake, not just me.
Having suffered from this imposed gloom for several minutes, my attention was drawn to the battering of torrential rain on my flat roof, punctuated intermittently with a dull 'Thud!'.....'Thud!'
'What on Earth is that?' my mind chipped in. I replied ' Nothing. Must be from next door neighbour falling out of bed.'
Well, how could I expect myself to come up with a logical explanation at that unearthly hour?
I searched though my mental index file of things that go bump in the night, and eventually found a match. The side door in my wooden fence must be banging against the house. The two Everest workmen who had gone out that way earlier on Friday, must have failed to close it properly, drat them. From the sound of the wind and rain, there was not going to be any let up on the weather front for some time.
This called for action.
I pulled on a pair of black Wellingtons, struggled into a colour co-ordinated, green and black waterproof jacket over the top of my shortie nightie, and exited via my shiny new patio door to fasten the offending object securely. The grey half light snuggled a welcome round me, as musical raindrops beat a tattoo on my hood. Yes, the gate was swinging wide. The men had obviously made no attempt to close the latch properly.
So, dear reader, that was why at five o'clock, clad in shorty nightie and Wellingtons (I discarded the rain splattered jacket) I sat down before my trusty computer to share the tale of my rude awakening. The boots, brand new ones bought in honour of last winter's snow and never actually worn before, are quite cosy on my feet, but the shorty nightie makes me glad I can go back upstairs to my waiting duvet, as soon as I finish typing this, to reheat the chilly bits of my anatomy.
Have a good weekend, people...