14st 13lb, 9.0 units. My radio alarm came on very loudly so I cheerfully removed my wax earplugs and said “I guess that will be 7 o’clock, then!” as I prepared to leap out of bed, but it proved to be only 2.08 a.m. Extensive enquiries failed to get to the bottom of this catastrophe, but I suspect that it was caused by Mrs H patting the wireless in a half-asleep attempt to bring its wind up. Naturally the racket started the baby crying, and Mrs H had to get up to feed him. Equally naturally, I failed to get back to sleep properly during the remainder of the night, finally giving up the attempt at 6.15 and going to sit in my conservatory with a cup of tea to contemplate The Future.
I am torn between a desire to do the best I can financially for my wife and child, and a selfish reluctance to return to the sort of job I never particularly liked. Particularly as this would almost certainly involve relocating from my house in Northumberland, with its matchless views. How likely is it that I could ever find anything to compare with it in the North West? Here we could keep chickens, grow vegetables, and I could write books. I have to acknowledge that this is theoretically what I should have been doing for the last five years, and have done sod all about it, but it remains an alluring if almost certainly unremunerative possibility.
I went for a business meeting in Newcastle this morning and was pleased to get through it without, I believe, making a complete tit of myself, given that I was suffering from a pretty high level of sleep deprivation. This caught up with me when I got home, and I devoted the rest of the day to looking and feeling exhausted. A condition beautifully captured on camera by the friend who called at teatime to inspect The Baby, bearing generous gifts.
Post a Comment