Archived entries for Alarms

Morning has Broken (my delightful sleep)

“Wake up, Papa! It’s Time to go downstairs.”
“…grrrmphh…wha? What time…? It’s much too early…”
“It’s not too early.”
“Yes it is. What time is it?”
“It’s half past six.”
“You always say it’s half past six. What’s the real time?”
“Time! Time to go downstairs!”
“It’s five o’clock in the morning. I need some more sleep. Downstairs later.”
“Not downstairs later. Downstairs now!”
“In ten minutes…shhh! Listen! What’s that noise?”

This is followed by me being as quiet as possible in the hope that my daughter Seren (aged 2) will magically fall back into a deep sleep. She knows exactly what I’m trying to do. The next thing I notice is not the gentle sound of a sleeping youngster but instead two little hands trying to pull me out of my own bed.

“Er, what do you think you’re doing?”
“Seren’s bed.”
“No, Your bed is in your room. This is my bed and I’m staying i-”
“Light on!”
“No, light stays off. If you switch it on, Papa will go blind. Will you leave the light alone if I go downstairs and get you some milk?”
“Yep.” (She giggles. Those confident giggles you get when you know you’ve won.)

So the day begins.

In This House…

It’s a time for change once again. Last week I was informed that I had successfully obtained a position as a journalist with The Parliament magazine, which was fantastic news for me because it’s a continuation of similar sort of work to that which I’d been enjoying for the last 5 months at the European Parliament in Brussels. So now that I’ll be getting an income, I was finally able to move flats and have ended up in a place that is very near to where I used to live but is a single appartment rather than a shared house.  Which will be a new experience, because I’ve never lived alone before. I’m imagining myself, three months down the line, with all these little routines that will establish themselves, unhindered by the need to accommodate other people. I might end up, for example, doing the ironing at exactly 6pm in the evening, then when people ring up and ask me out for a quiet Sunday drink it’ll be: “Hate to disappoint you but I’m afraid it’s Ironing Hour.” I wouldn’t be surprised if I end up with a fridge stocked in alphabetical order and when asked about the large plant that’s in my room, reply with: “Oh, that’s Horace. He’s quite moody so don’t get him talking about politics.”

Also I have been given about one hundred rules from the landlady. Not just the usual regulations you would expect, for example about keeping the front door locked. No, these are, it seems, rules which are so obscure that it is almost as if they were specifically put in place to be forgotten, and consequently broken. Rules about windowsills, carpets, when to open the curtains. The flat is above a doctor’s practice, and I hope the landlady never finds out that one particular memory that stands out from my previous work in hospitals is the occasion when I set the bank alarm off. For the second time. I just hope that here I don’t unwittingly lock the patients in the waiting room or mistakenly direct an ill person to the downstairs toilet instead of the doctor’s surgery.

Right now I’m being extra careful, making sure that, yes, the windows are shut when I leave and that this time I didn’t wrench the door of the wardrobe off its hinges within my first half-hour; at least with housemates I have the chance to explain that, no, I don’t know how on earth I managed to do it either but would they please just hold this while I look for the missing wall bracket/fuse box/fire extinguisher. This time, I will be shouting at Horace the Plant in exasperated tones, urging him to not just stand there but help me to try and put this back in one piece again….

Copyright Matt Williams© 2006–2014. All rights reserved.

RSS Feed. This blog is proudly powered by Wordpress and uses Modern Clix, a theme by Rodrigo Galindez.