There’s being tired and then there is being tired. So often when we’re asked how we are, we respond with ‘tired’. Rarely are we really knee-droppingly tired - the kind of exhaustion that comes from having a newborn for example, or working a shift in a hospital, or suffering from long-term insomnia. Yet ‘tired’ is one of our standard responses.
I have noticed so many people saying it recently and I then began to notice myself saying it.
Perhaps at the moment it’s more prevalent because of the darkening of the mornings and the coming of full autumn? An autumn which, thus far at least, has been sorely lacking in crisp blue skies and rather more steeped in boggy, soggy, waterlogged ground.
It’s a well-reported fact that as we get older, we allegedly need less sleep.
I grasp that this is because small children are growing and so on but seriously?
Hands up out there adults – who’s finding this day-to-day business of adulting rejuvenating and refreshing? Hmm, no takers I see.
Apparently most adults always need about seven hours of sleep a night. Seven hours? That would mean I could go to bed at 11pm and still bounce back up at 6am, and not be feeling the strain by the Wednesday morning commute into work. Unlikely.
What do those adults who merrily function on seven hours do for a living? Rest?!
I am not suggesting we begin to go as far as the brown bat who sleeps for 19.9 hours out of every 24, but there are days when I feel like this would suit me just fine.
My current yearning for snoozing has come about in the main because of the epic house move of which I have written recently and has been exacerbated by hard (though productive and satisfying) work. Yet I average eight hours a night and don’t find the alarm clock any more appealing.
If you are one of those Margaret Thatcher types who exists on four hours a year or something equally hyperbolic then I salute you. I, clearly, enjoy my pyjamas too much.
Roll up, roll up, for all your Halloween toilet paper!
I wrote last year about how the shops cash in on Halloween but this year I have even spotted Boots joining in the mass marketing by promoting make-up for Halloween, and a supermarket flogging Halloween alcohol.
Why, aside from the money? Oh no, hang on, it’s only about the money.
I like Halloween for the fun that children have but – and it’s a big but – there is surely only so far this can go?
When bread companies joined in last year it spiralled into the land of bonkers, but what next? Toothpaste for Halloween? Tampax? Loo roll?
Actually, I bet Halloween loo roll is already out there just waiting to be reduced to 20p on November 1.
The heat is on. If only I could work out how to turn it off…
I have entered the World of the New-Fangled in our home. The contraption boggling me is the thermostat which, as opposed to being stuck on a wall, follows me from room to room.
Obviously you need to carry it yourself, it’s not so clever that it trots along independently beside you, but it’s beyond my technical ability.
The instruction booklet has clearly been written in a code for youngsters to understand – all warm and snug while looking on pityingly at the middle-aged shivering in our coats and smacking our increasingly blue lips.
This is merely another step towards Becoming My Mother. Very amusing when I was younger. Less so now I’m either frozen or combusting.