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"Wow, heavy night. Talk about burning the candles Michelle. You're a bit of a wild card aren't you?" She says aloud as she rolls off her shockingly comfortable couch. She stands up and stretches, looking down at the spilled red wine. "Thank goodness for laminate, my lazy ass wouldn't be getting that cleaned."  

Her mouth feels a little pasty after conking out from her last swig of wine. It’s a morning after taste she is well acquainted with. But it’s definitely one that always tastes like regret and a bitter reminder of the boredom she experiences almost every weekend. Nevertheless, in her heart and mind, she knows she’ll be raring to go the next Friday, Saturday and Sunday unless something drastically changes in her routine during the week.

‘There ain’t anything happening this week. Don’t even need to look in my diary. POO!’

As she begins to clean up the spillage she notices her neighbours’ dog isn't barking his head off. Now, ‘Killer’ was a big, massive, aggressive looking beast, but he had the heart of a pussy cat. Michelle had seen him get chased by a kitten one time and it was almost as though the other dogs in the endz felt shame for him. But that saying ‘a dog’s bark is worse than its bite’ was one that could be tattooed all over Killer. He was the friendliest pooch you could ever snuggle with, but didn’t half love to let everyone know when he was awake and ready to play. That morning bark that reverberated through the walls, rattled the kitchen sink and made your ribs shake was nowhere to be heard. This was usually an indication that Mr Cumberbatch has gone to work; it's almost become a daily alarm.

You could practically set your watch by the bark, it’s strange as well that Killer would always bark the same amount of times just before he ceased completely; 13 resounding, bellowing barks without fail. Even if the timing was spaced apart unevenly you could always count on those final two or three. 6:15 for approximately 15 minutes every day Mr Cumberbatch’s Rottweiler would bark after he leaves and then suddenly stops.

"Odd" she thinks, and checks the time, "Goin’ on 7, so I'm not late, which is good. Oh well, not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Maybe he's sick and he didn't go out. I'll check on him when I get home tonight."

“My head feels a little spinny in a tizzy today, maybe I went a little too hard on the champagne campaign.” She laughs to herself. “Well I wish it was a champagne kinda night, just a cheap bottle of red to knock back. I really need to step out one of these weekends but… I just can’t be assed!” She chuckles to herself again. She shakes off her boozy thought process to get into weekday work mode. “Time for SERIOUS business!” she say’s aloud. “Who am I even talking to?”

Michelle goes through her usual process of getting ready: Wake Up. Put the phone on timer. Run the bath, check Insta and Snapchat, jump in the bath, get out and put straighteners on. Then do makeup, do her hair, try grabbing a cuppa if she's got time. All the while listening to some music to get her energy up and feel good for the battle she is about to face - navigating the Transport For London rush hour commute.

“You know what? These morning bangers are almost certainly going to be the best part of my day.”

She does a few more final house checks, takes a look in her purse and handbag to make sure she has all her daily essentials, takes a final look in the mirror and steps out.