The morning after...

After everything had calmed down and the house was gradually falling back to sleep, I heard Ben snort. (I mean he laughed, not that he was casually doing cocaine at bedtime).

"What?" I asked, anxious to know what he was laughing at because usually it's me.
"They're back," he said, gesturing at a light on the wall flashing from outside.

We jumped out of bed and had a look. The intrusively flashing light was coming from a van parked up on the pavement outside changing the poster on the bus stop. 1am, in Belgium, is apparently prime poster changing hours, as though they don't want people to see them do it, as though they want to imply the posters get changed by magic.

Ben got back into bed grumpily and said "They obviously didn't go to suspicious school," which made me realise just how asleep he had been before being woken up by the light. I think he realised what an odd thing it was to say as well, because he paused a moment and then said thoughtfully, "I don't think anyone goes to suspicious school."