To sleep… no chance to dream

To sleep… no chance to dream

My trusty little alarm clock sits idle. Gone are the days when our schedule frequently required us to be up and doing, catching trains or going places. Even getting up a bit earlier for a much-needed appointment to fix something – hair, muscles, eyes, car – seems a bit extreme. I’m slightly dreading the expectations that’ll come with the world getting back on the proverbial horse.

Not that I’ve had a wink of sleep for days now. Our bedroom is lovely and warm – such a boon most of the year, but hell this last week. I lie there in the stilly watches of the night – like everyone else I’m sure – not knowing what to do with myself I’m so hot and cross. I feel almost panicky, as if I want to climb out of my skin. Getting up does no good, there’s no breeze to stand in at the window. I think I’ve got a poor thermostat. Don can stride about – or sleep, dammit! – in 30°C heat or -5° and not be too bothered. I’m either freezing or boiling or worried I’m about to be either or both.


Knickers in the freezer

Although someone did suggest knickers in the freezer – next to the crumpets and the frozen peas but they are clean, I promise.

I’m just not sure my bum is the hottest part of my body – !!! – and it would be of only passing benefit anyway. I suppose I could have put the frozen knickers on my head – although worrying consequences might ensue should anyone see me like this, obviously. Another ploy is splashing water over your face and neck, but this has clear disadvantages in that you drip all over the place. Fans just move the sizzling air round the room faster.

The only solution I’ve found is to sit or lie very, very still. Not move a muscle. Just give up. No cooking or cleaning or socialising (exhausting and everyone’s ratty) or writing – fingers slide off the mouse, brain fogged – or anything that might agitate your ecosystem. And wait for it to pass.


Cool, cool water

Unless, of course, you’re lucky enough to be somewhere traditionally hot like France –  maybe France is a bad choice right now, but you get the gist – and there’s a pool/sea and aircon and the general feeling that siestas and supper at nine, al fresco, are the order of the day. Oh, for a waft of aircon! I reckon we should get more organised in this country, pdq. These baking summers ain’t going away any time soon.