I came back from town and sat down to start this blog post, and there was a clattering from the porch. Sharky came in from outside with a welcome on his lips, and I pulled him up on my lap and said “it’s so much nicer to be at home with you.”
I meant to stay in town and ‘mooch’ a little after coffee at the usual haunt but I didn’t feel up to it. I went to bed at 21:00 last night, read a little Alistair MacLean (The Last Frontier) then switched to two essays by Leigh Hunt (Getting Up on Cold Mornings and A Few Thoughts on Sleep). Nineteenth century blog posts.
Had a nice long, cozy sleep, waking at six in the morning.
Read a little more, then got up around 06:35 with plenty of time for leisurely breakfasting, blog-reading, email-checking, post-opening and file-sorting. I was all ready for my day’s leisurely mooching, but after I walked to town and sat down for a nice cappuccino at 10:30, again not finding our favourite tables vacant, I found I wasn’t feeling particularly well at all.
It feels like your brain hasn’t been properly oiled, your eyes have been sandpapered and you’re almost seeing stars – but after your early night and organized morning, you fully expect to feel smugly energetic and refreshed.
Early to bed, early to rise
Makes a man healthy, wealthy and wise
So far the ‘healthy’ bit is failing to materialize, and I won’t comment on the rest.
I was interested in Leigh Hunt’s references to the idea (in his day) that lying late in the morning shortens your life span and causes ‘corpulence’. What happened to those ideas; were they disproved? Or are there so many new theories and ideas whizzing around these days that the old beliefs lose their visibility?
Does lying late shorten your life span, or does something else causing your short life span cause you to lie late? Maybe everybody had short life spans but people were more likely to be uncharitable about someone they considered a slug-a-bed?
Back to this century. The next step (after coffee) was to visit Argos and argue over a piece of bedroom storage furniture that acts like a freestanding item of ‘fitted bedroom’. You set it up behind your bed and store things on the shelves and in the overhead cupboard. We need as much storage space as we can get, now that we’re trying to squeeze two households into one house, and I considered it seriously. But then, just as we were checking its availability, I had a horrible thought.
“Wait a minute,” I said. “I’m not sure about this. When you’re sitting up in bed reading, what do you lean against?”
Long silence while we all stared at the photo. Then we left.
After that we visited Superdrug (not a good replacement for Savers), and I was studying a pot of E45 cream which was no cheaper than in Boots. I was just deciding to bite the bullet and buy it (it has a healing effect on my chapped hands) when Mum coasted to a stop beside me and said “E is going now – do you want her to give you a lift back, or are you going to mooch around with me?”
As I mentioned earlier, I’d had every intention of mooching, then walking home, but my mind was so unclear now that I didn’t feel tempted by the thought of staying in town. It’s a bright day and the light seemed to sear my eyeballs. It could only get worse.
Home again, E45-less. Sitting with a cat in the cool shade of my house. So much for mooching.