The Night Garden

The sleep was sparse last night. I got up this morning and took the little lady to school in a strange fugue-like state. On my return, I caught sight of myself in the hall mirror.

I looked like one of the dementors from a Harry Potter film.

I shook my head and pondered the events of the night before that had led to me looking like an old piece of skin that had been lying in a dirty puddle for a week.

The lamplight was low, as suited this time. I sat on one of the easy chairs and looked over at my son fondly. He was sitting on the floor, deep in thought.

He looked up.

Father? What causes the air to move in the sky?

I chuckled and waved my whisky glass around in a semi-magical motion.

Perhaps if you pour me another dram I shall be lubricated enough to tell you!

The not so little boom laughed and leapt up, grabbing the bottle from the mantle and pouring me a good glug into my glass.

There. Now, will you tell?

His expectant face beamed up at me.

Of course, young man. Well. The air above us and indeed... around us, moves because of many things. One of these is the action of temperature. Warm air rises and cold air sinks. This causes air to swirl upward from warm zones and colder air to rush in to fill the gaps.

I took a sip of the whisky and carried on.

But, to compound this. The earth, as we know, is spinning globe. The very act of its spinning pulls on the air above causing it to swirl and move according to the rotation of the earth below.

My son pondered this before replying, then a grin broke out on his face.

Ha, you almost had me for a moment, a globe earth!! Always the joker!

I chortled in return.

Indeed, I was trying to trick you. A globe earth indeed! Who would believe such a thing!

I poured a small spot of whisky in a glass for him and we continued to ruminate the night away until dawn stained the skies with her pink and red skirts.

Daddy, you will have to take him, he just won't settle!!

I staggered down from the Masturboratory that was the attic and took the little boom from the good lady's arms. He was thrashing about in quite the angry manner.

I sighed and took him downstairs, walking back and forth, attempting as normal, to bore him to sleep.

I spoke soothing words to him, to lull him into a slumber. Such as...

Ow! Don't bite me, little man!?!

And

You should try sleeping, it's fucking magic.

And

Ow, you just punched my eye?!?!

Finally, dawn broke just before I did and he fell asleep. I returned him to the crib where he plots out his evil reigns of night terror and slunk back to my bed.

---

Guess which scenario is the true retelling of events?