Sometimes I think I rather envy the Sleeping Beauty, fast asleep for a hundred years until being woken with a tender kiss by a handsome prince. I’m not too worried about the prince, to be honest, or even the tender
kiss and a hundred years is, perhaps, going rather a lot too far.
On the other hand, most nights I manage no more than two or three hours at a stretch before
my own handsome prince (aka Mr B) calls me down to attend to his every need. Then when I do get back to bed, I find myself dwelling on everything I need to do the following day, together with all the (unlikely) repercussions if I don’t manage to finish
my to-do list. The fact that I had personally drawn up the list and could just have easily shortened it to a manageable length escapes me, as I toss and turn beneath the bedclothes.
Then, this morning - I woke at 8 a.m. having had a full night’s sleep for the first time in ages. It might have been the Youngest of the Darling Daughters, issuing her father with a gentle lecture before she left to drive home
last night; or maybe the drawing of me, fast asleep, which I had sketched on the whiteboard which informs Mr B what day of the week it is and what might be happening as a reminder that his own personal Sleeping One badly needed her beauty sleep. Whichever,
I woke full of the joys of spring. Or Autumn.
What a difference a good night’s sleep makes! Was there anything I couldn’t manage today? All those
various appointments I needed to make and had put off because I was too tired to hang on the phone for ages while I moved, ever so slowly, up the queue from number 57 to number 1. No problems, my energetic alter ego told me - put the phone on loud speaker
and get on with loading the washing machine me while you wait. Easy Peasy! By midday I had booked for our house alarm to have its annual inspection, for our oven to be cleaned, for the nurse at the GP surgery to give me my regular B12 injection and for eleven
tasty meals to be delivered for Mr B to enjoy while I am away in a weekend break visiting my Little Sister at the end of the week.
Off to the shops, and my feet
aren’t dragging as I walk - I am practically springing along singing “Glad that I live am I” under my breath. I do stop singing when there is anyone walking towards me, mindful that singing is supposed to be a virus spreader though it pains
me to think that something so joyous can be outlawed.
I put in my on-line shopping order, trawl the Internet for an ideal present for an approaching birthday,
write letters to the two granddaughters who are away from home and might like to know what’s going on in their absence. I even order some Christmas presents and suggest to Mr B that we look through a Christmas Meals catalogue, even though there will
almost certainly only be the two of us celebrating together this year and most of the exciting meals in the catalogue will serve a minimum of six people. All this in addition to the usual round of washing, cooking, clearing up and general odd jobs. I am on
The story book doesn’t explain what the Sleeping Beauty did when she woke up, only that she and the handsome prince “lived happily ever after.”
What a cop out! I mean, she had a wedding to plan, a guest list to argue over, dress boutiques to visit, bridesmaids to choose, presumably a hen do to arrange for herself and several other princesses. Did she help her prince hack down the tall bramble hedge
that had grown around her castle while she slept? Did she take the spinning wheel down to the charity shop? Did she need a hair cut after a hundred sleepy years?
from the shops, I decide to take a break and read a few chapters of my latest book - it’s a murder mystery so I will need all my concentration if I am to identify the murderer before Vera, the detective of TV fame. I am fast asleep in the chair
before Vera has carried out her initial inspection of the body.
I am obviously going to need more than just one night of undisturbed sleep.
Though possibly not quite as much as a hundred years...