Perchance to Dream…

In my previous life as a proper working person I never felt sated by sleep. On Fridays I’d need to sleep when I arrived home in order to be able to go out later in the evening. I’d continue to catch up all of each weekend and would be feeling energetic by Sunday evening-all ready for Monday again. Once a holiday began I’d sleep for several days, waking only for meals-once, memorably, sleeping all the way down through France whenever I was in the passenger seat, although I did manage to stay awake for my turn at driving, otherwise both mine and Husband’s sleep might have been permanent.

As a child I slept in a coma-like state and was infuriated by discovering events I’d missed during the night, such as thunderstorms or Santa Claus. Later, as a student I’d often fall into inebriated sleep in the small hours, having discussed the meaning of life in endless meaningless conversations.

Like all new parents, when the babies were born I could never remember what it was like not to feel tired and longed for the heady days of lie-ins at weekends. Seasonal time changes were torture, with everyone else gloating in October when the clocks changed about ‘getting an extra hour’ [which of course is nonsense]. Tiny tots know nothing about such matters and render you an hour worse off by keeping to their usual early-rising timetable.

Then life became more leisurely with the onset of retirement, which was delightful. It was bliss to wake on Monday mornings at whatever time we chose. I remember that my father, on reaching retirement considered it essential to stick to his working pattern of rising and continued to be up and about as if he were to commute somewhere-but for what? In order to stroll up the road for a newspaper? To go out and dig the garden? As far as I am concerned these tasks can be ruled by me in a reversal of the previous order.

These days sleep tends to get interrupted by the requirements of ageing, internal workings. Often Husband will be returning from a nocturnal trip to the facilities as I get up to go and vice versa. But whereas he will fall immediately back into his deep, snore-laden slumber there will be occasional nights when sleep eludes me and I resort, having done the required tossing and turning to composing a story [or this blog]. If all else fails I creep out, make a cup of tea and settle with a book. My old game of finding a subject with each letter of the alphabet has faltered due to having exhausted all the categories. Rivers, capitals, flowers, foodstuffs-if there is a category left un-plundered by my wakeful brain please let me know.

However the night’s sleep has been I am usually asleep by about 8.00am-just in time to be woken…

 

Advertisements

The B&B Rant

A lot of people swear by B&Bs for their holiday accommodation needs. B&Bs, guest houses, chambers d’hotes-whatever you like to call them-differ from hotels in a variety of ways, but personally I would prefer to eat my own hair than stay in them.
The reasons fans of B&Bs give for loving them are varied, but rely on the principle of the ‘personal touch’. They say things like ‘such nice people’, ‘just like family’, ‘home from home’ and it is just this that provokes me to shudder at the idea of staying in one. This judgement does not come from hearsay, reportage or conversation but from real, empirical research. In other words, my experiences of said places have been entirely negative.
I don’t want to stay in someone’s home. I can manage [just about] to stay with close family members for up to two nights, perhaps but even then I find it hard to manage.
I don’t want to sleep in an overheated, tiny, stuffy room crammed with family photos, ornaments, souvenirs of Brixham, lace doilies and knick-knacks. I don’t want to be suffocated by an enormous cloud of puffy duvet.
We are not the earliest of risers. I want a lovely, exclusive en suite [for night time needs, if nothing else] and at least two cups of tea before I face anyone [Husband excluded of course]. I may want to slob about pre-ablution watching News 24.
When I do surface, I don’t really want to eat anything until at least late morning, and then I am not able to cope with ‘full English’ [in other words: cereal followed by bacon, sausage, egg, baked beans, fried bread, tomato, mushrooms, black pudding, toast and marmalade].
Most of all though I don’t wish to sit at the breakfast table and make small talk with the ‘friendly, welcoming’ host or hostess. I don’t want their life story, learn what their grandchildren are studying at university or where they have been for their holidays.
If all this makes me sound humbug I don’t care. Give me a plain, simple, anonymous hotel. It doesn’t need a stupendous view, an infinity pool, a Michelin starred restaurant or four posters [although they can be fun…]. I want to be able to use a breakfast buffet-preferably up until eleven or so. I want tea and coffee making facilities [biscuits are always a bonus]. I want a TV I can watch from the bed. I want a firm, clean, comfortable bed with options for temperature control [ie covers to put on or remove]. I want a clean, efficient en suite with a shower that doesn’t need a degree in engineering to operate. Ideally, some beautiful toiletries are provided. I’d really like a late night bar where I can grab a last glass of wine before I turn in. I’d like INTERNET [included in the price!]. I’d like pleasant, non intrusive service.
I don’t mind that it is part of a ‘chain’ and every room is the same. It needn’t have an Alpine or Namibian Desert view.
Otherwise-give me a comfortable, efficient camper van, which does have ensuite, tea & coffee making, glass of wine and TV-and I don’t need to talk to anyone [Husband excluded]…

How do you Sleep?

                      Sleep is featuring heavily in the news at the moment. It always amazes me that subjects that have been studied and analysed for so long and then put aside can yield new discoveries. Sleep is one of those subjects that people either think nothing about at all or it has become an overwhelming misery and an insuperable, life altering problem. I suppose I am fortunate to be in the former camp, most of the time. I have rarely experienced difficulty in dropping off to sleep, but fall into the category of not being a ‘morning’ person, preferring to stay up later and [particularly in the winter months] dozing until wakefulness becomes an acceptable state.

                    Often, once people become parents and have had to go along with the timetable of their new offspring they continue to rise at intolerable times through habit, even though their progeny have become teenagers and pursuant of a nocturnal lifestyle. My own parents were such paragons, rising early even in retirement. Myself, I regressed to sleeping in whenever I had the opportunity [weekends] as soon as my tots were able to tell the little hand from the big hand. As a proper working person, early mornings were a drudgery and a chore to be endured only with the promise of long lie-ins at weekends-and once the holidays began I’d catch up by sleeping for days and nights, waking only to eat.

                    Enforced sleep deprivation, such as long haul flights in economy or periods of stress induces nasty side effects such as cold sores in me. I get so far into the night and then begin to feel stretched, as if my skin is being pulled taut over my bones. When I retired I began by taking advantage of the situation and sleeping in every morning, until finally I achieved sleep satiation, after which I ‘bottomed out’ at about 8.30am.

                    Now experts are finding ways that sleep patterns influence our lives and seeking applications for such knowledge. Drugs such as cancer treatment are better, apparently, for being administered at night, in order to reduce side effects. The surprise here is that no one thought of it before! But the revelatory discovery that caught my attention was the one about teenagers, who are thought to make more academic progress when their day is moved later, giving them time to sleep in. This would have suited me. I loathed getting up for school and would habitually leave it to the very last moment, scrabbling up without much attention to my appearance [no change there] or to consume any kind of breakfast item, much to my mother’s frustration. She would call after me as I fled to the bus stop, ‘what about breakfast?’ or ‘You haven’t eaten anything’-a routine that was repeated with my own offspring further down the timeline.

                   Awake at night? Now I have the perfect solution-compose a story. I can guarantee you will have forgotten it by the morning.