Both children stirred. Ignored them, trying to get 5 mins of snooze time.

The daughter’s appeals of “Mama” grew louder and more persistent. Sighed. Gave up. Sat up. Looked at the time.

8.41am. Holy cow! I have never slept past 8am this year!

Thank you, children, for letting me sleep in. Thank you, my relaxed mind, for going with the flow.

Ten years ago, when I was treating my taste buds to unusual desserts (in this case, some jelly-like concoction in Macau), I would have snapped at you if you warned me that my most distinctively happy memorable would arise from having slept gloriously. Well, times have changed. People grow older. This old man needs his beauty sleep.