So Long ...

Today is the longest day, and tonight will be the longest night until 2039. I don't know why that is, but I do know that for me last night was the shortest. I went to bed at a reasonable time, settling down for a nice read with my cocoa, my bed heated, my bedside light glowing; best time of the day usually. But I've finished all my delicious books - Sarah Walters' Paying Guests (8 stars), Donna Tartt's Goldfinch (9 stars), and Americanah by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie (8 stars, not quite as good as Half a Yellow Sun, 10 stars). And so I picked a book off the shelves that I've always meant to read, Parents and Children by Ivy Compton-Burnett. It's a Penguin Modern Classic, highly recommended as one of the great pieces of 20th-century literature. But what a load of scrubbish! I read 20 pages and couldn't tell you what it was about. From the back cover I learned that an aristocratic family, Lord This and Lady That, live in their ancestral home with their son, his wife and their nine children. Nine! Cue languid but sparky dialogue between Graham (I know, and him titled!), Daniel, Lucia, their parents and their grandparents. What were they saying? I don't know! None of it made any sense. I've unravelled Ulysses in my time, though Finnegans Wake defeated me, but this! Furious, the hour too late to start another book, I threw it aside and turned off the light. But could I sleep? Not a wink. Graham and co's indecipherable words crawled around my brain leaving me foxed and irritable.

I must have dozed off because I woke thirsty and poured myself some water from the bottle by my side. Not into the glass though. The hour was 3am. After mopping up the mess I found myself returning to the maddening Graham. Was it me, incapable of comprehending what might have been dazzling, witty conversation? I must have dozed again because the next thing I heard was my neighbours talking loudly behind my bedroom wall. It was 6.10am. They get up early every morning and I never hear a thing, but this was Sunday! What the hell were they doing? I stuffed in my handy earplugs, my saviours when the wind cracks the loose wisteria strands against the window like a desperate Cathy, but it was no good. And so I got up at 6.45am to face the longest day. Outside it was still dark though a narrow horizontal slit of light heralded the dawn to come. I switched on the Christmas tree lights, and felt peace descend on my weary frame. How I love this time of year with its promise of a colourful, noisy, friendly houseful of family. At least I can understand what they say, aristocrats though they be not. Stuff you Graham!