For me a “lie-in” has to be matter of conscious decision. I wake up in time to get up by 7.00 am and holidays do not interfere with this regular internal clock.
But, rather like the efficacy of a cool laager on a hot day; the heady adrenalin rush as Formula 1 cars roar by; the nauseating stench of the canals of Venice and other book learned experiences which are not true in practice for me, I still believe that one should try and “lie-in” because not only is it a sacred function of the holiday to indulge oneself in this way but also I am constantly told it is pleasant.
So today, on day two of the holiday (dear god, one sixtieth of my vacation has irrevocably flown!) I steeled myself to ‘enjoy’ an extra couple of hours in bed.
God, as they say, will not be mocked – though Dawkins et al seem to have done a pretty good job to me – and at the time that I was ‘supposed’ to get up The Combined Canine Cacophony Chorus started to get underway.
The dogs are positively operatic in their attempts to get sluggish sybarites out of bed. The ground bass is provided by the partially de-barked dog next door. He is joined by a couple of light tenors from the flats opposite and the coloratura glissandi are provided by The Screaming Dogs of next door but one. Grace notes in various registers are provided by assorted curs in the district. The sweep of passing aircraft provide a timpani accompaniment to the hound harmonies while the early morning rubbish truck offers a variety of percussion effects to give the whole performance a sort of crazed grandeur .
Stockhausen would wet himself with excitement were he to live here and listen to the sort of racket which makes his music sound positively melodic. I am not Stockhausen and lurid thoughts of the more satisfying parts of Macbeth come to mind together with Hamlet’s injunction that “My thoughts be bloody, or be nothing worth.”
Who would have thought that a professed “dog person” (albeit only as far as Labradors are concerned) could be reduced to the level of hatred of all the wolf-descended life forms by which I am surrounded. And don’t get me started on pavement poo!
As I have been typing an uneasy silence has fallen on the district only broken by the mindlessly monotonous cooing of wood pigeon, or pigeon or even doves – what the hell do I know of flying rats; all I know is that I wish they would shut up or indulge in their amorous shenanigans elsewhere!
But, and most importantly, be still my beating heart, the skies are a perfect azure: what then can be wrong in this best of all possible worlds!
Another task has been completed: the sending off of the cash back form to Canon.
I am finding, indeed as I have found again my handheld computer that I am adding tasks to the electronic list just so I can cross them off! Two down and a growing list to cope with. No empty days for me!
After the sunbathing of course!
But, rather like the efficacy of a cool laager on a hot day; the heady adrenalin rush as Formula 1 cars roar by; the nauseating stench of the canals of Venice and other book learned experiences which are not true in practice for me, I still believe that one should try and “lie-in” because not only is it a sacred function of the holiday to indulge oneself in this way but also I am constantly told it is pleasant.
So today, on day two of the holiday (dear god, one sixtieth of my vacation has irrevocably flown!) I steeled myself to ‘enjoy’ an extra couple of hours in bed.
God, as they say, will not be mocked – though Dawkins et al seem to have done a pretty good job to me – and at the time that I was ‘supposed’ to get up The Combined Canine Cacophony Chorus started to get underway.
The dogs are positively operatic in their attempts to get sluggish sybarites out of bed. The ground bass is provided by the partially de-barked dog next door. He is joined by a couple of light tenors from the flats opposite and the coloratura glissandi are provided by The Screaming Dogs of next door but one. Grace notes in various registers are provided by assorted curs in the district. The sweep of passing aircraft provide a timpani accompaniment to the hound harmonies while the early morning rubbish truck offers a variety of percussion effects to give the whole performance a sort of crazed grandeur .
Stockhausen would wet himself with excitement were he to live here and listen to the sort of racket which makes his music sound positively melodic. I am not Stockhausen and lurid thoughts of the more satisfying parts of Macbeth come to mind together with Hamlet’s injunction that “My thoughts be bloody, or be nothing worth.”
Who would have thought that a professed “dog person” (albeit only as far as Labradors are concerned) could be reduced to the level of hatred of all the wolf-descended life forms by which I am surrounded. And don’t get me started on pavement poo!
As I have been typing an uneasy silence has fallen on the district only broken by the mindlessly monotonous cooing of wood pigeon, or pigeon or even doves – what the hell do I know of flying rats; all I know is that I wish they would shut up or indulge in their amorous shenanigans elsewhere!
But, and most importantly, be still my beating heart, the skies are a perfect azure: what then can be wrong in this best of all possible worlds!
Another task has been completed: the sending off of the cash back form to Canon.
I am finding, indeed as I have found again my handheld computer that I am adding tasks to the electronic list just so I can cross them off! Two down and a growing list to cope with. No empty days for me!
After the sunbathing of course!
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