Home + honey and lemon with hot water + bed = relief. That was the simple equation for yesterday evening.
I was tempted out of bed by the promise of prawns and spinach. This also gave me the opportunity to adjust one horrific statement that I had made in my blog yesterday to wit, that nothing in The Elixir of Love was familiar to me. This was said before the strains of the absurdly famous aria wafted out of the speakers in my car and, in spite of my debilitating inherited illness I was able to croak my way enthusiastically and defiantly along!
The process of my waking is now assisted by the helpful crashing of the rubbish men as they noisily empty the bins at the bottom of our road at ten past six in the morning. This cacophony integrates itself into the bemusingly complicated dreams that I have at that time of the morning until the strident call of the alarm on the mobile phone brings me back to some sort of reality.
I fall into the bathroom and as an experienced myopic it matters little whether the light is on or not as everything can be done on automatic apart from the insertion of the lenses which I have now reverted to wearing. With the old style hard lenses one could virtually flip them into the eye and they would stick, but with one-day soft lenses you have to be a degree more accurate in their positioning. Experienced contact lens wearers have no difficulty (whatever their actual health) of snapping into ‘Lens Mode’ to ensure an appropriately professional insertion. Their professionalism may only extend to the few seconds necessary to establish sight with a complete reversion to imbecility or insensibility immediately afterwards, but it is astonishing how the power of the lens can break through almost any debilitating condition for a few magic moments!
The kids, of course are fascinated by the change in my appearance and are all questions. My response, “I got fed up with glasses” doesn’t go anyway near enough to satisfy their curiosity and one or two of them have looked at me with wonder as if I had decided that my eyes no longer needed glasses and I had discarded them at a whim!
Our Culture Club is crumbling around our ears. The kids are not going to give up their free Friday afternoon (not surprisingly!) so we will have to think again. Our lead event, the exhibition of the paintings of the Fauve artist Vlaminck, might perhaps have been a tad esoteric (Surely not! I hear you informed intellectuals cry) so it has been dumped.
Our proposed guided tour by one of the architectural team which designed the new terminal in Barcelona airport has now taken centre stage in our planning. We will probably offer it as a ‘one off’ event and then build on the response to that. It’s hard work bringing advantaged children to Culture, but it surely will be worth it in the long run. Isn’t it?
As I had a free period at the end of the day I took myself off home and took to my bed in double quick time as soon as I arrived.
I am now officially disgruntled at the length of time that this illness is taking to work its way through my system.
Each lesson provides its own energy to get me through it but I feel somewhat drained at the end. It is perhaps a good thing that tomorrow is my ‘owed’ half day after an early start and taking the kids sailing last week.
My bed has never seemed so inviting.
I was tempted out of bed by the promise of prawns and spinach. This also gave me the opportunity to adjust one horrific statement that I had made in my blog yesterday to wit, that nothing in The Elixir of Love was familiar to me. This was said before the strains of the absurdly famous aria wafted out of the speakers in my car and, in spite of my debilitating inherited illness I was able to croak my way enthusiastically and defiantly along!
The process of my waking is now assisted by the helpful crashing of the rubbish men as they noisily empty the bins at the bottom of our road at ten past six in the morning. This cacophony integrates itself into the bemusingly complicated dreams that I have at that time of the morning until the strident call of the alarm on the mobile phone brings me back to some sort of reality.
I fall into the bathroom and as an experienced myopic it matters little whether the light is on or not as everything can be done on automatic apart from the insertion of the lenses which I have now reverted to wearing. With the old style hard lenses one could virtually flip them into the eye and they would stick, but with one-day soft lenses you have to be a degree more accurate in their positioning. Experienced contact lens wearers have no difficulty (whatever their actual health) of snapping into ‘Lens Mode’ to ensure an appropriately professional insertion. Their professionalism may only extend to the few seconds necessary to establish sight with a complete reversion to imbecility or insensibility immediately afterwards, but it is astonishing how the power of the lens can break through almost any debilitating condition for a few magic moments!
The kids, of course are fascinated by the change in my appearance and are all questions. My response, “I got fed up with glasses” doesn’t go anyway near enough to satisfy their curiosity and one or two of them have looked at me with wonder as if I had decided that my eyes no longer needed glasses and I had discarded them at a whim!
Our Culture Club is crumbling around our ears. The kids are not going to give up their free Friday afternoon (not surprisingly!) so we will have to think again. Our lead event, the exhibition of the paintings of the Fauve artist Vlaminck, might perhaps have been a tad esoteric (Surely not! I hear you informed intellectuals cry) so it has been dumped.
Our proposed guided tour by one of the architectural team which designed the new terminal in Barcelona airport has now taken centre stage in our planning. We will probably offer it as a ‘one off’ event and then build on the response to that. It’s hard work bringing advantaged children to Culture, but it surely will be worth it in the long run. Isn’t it?As I had a free period at the end of the day I took myself off home and took to my bed in double quick time as soon as I arrived.
I am now officially disgruntled at the length of time that this illness is taking to work its way through my system.
Each lesson provides its own energy to get me through it but I feel somewhat drained at the end. It is perhaps a good thing that tomorrow is my ‘owed’ half day after an early start and taking the kids sailing last week.
My bed has never seemed so inviting.
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