"Eyes. Eyes. Eyes. Eyes. Wakey wakey, eggies and bakey."

It was almost beyond my level of comprehension how the hell I missed wake up gigs like this, but as my eyes cracked open, stabbed by the broken rays of the growing morning, Oz's face filled my vision.

"Yay! I waked him up."

Blake's laughter sounded. It hit my ears around the same time as the tummy-gurgling scent of bacon hit my nose.

Struggling to sit, body not quite getting with the programme, re-enacting a walker scene from The Walking Dead, I groaned. Oz grinned and jumped on my legs.

He was dressed for work: his green polo neck with his...