Music in my head
Sleep is a rare commodity around these parts right now.
That's odd for me. I'm normally a hearty sleeper, and much more practised at it than most people. Maybe it's all my unhealthily bottled-up stress at the imminent house move that's making me restless at night, or it could be something else entirely. Perhaps I used up all my life sleep-allocation as a teenager and now like Mr X I don't need it at all anymore.
Whatever the reason, last night was a particularly bad example. I went to bed around midnight and read until sometime before one. For the next half hour I lay in the dark with the music for an eightsome reel going around in my head.
I've no idea why an eightsome reel - there was certainly nothing in the book to subliminally suggest it. Sitting at my desk here this morning, I can't actually recall the tune at all, yet last night I had it note perfect. I remember thinking at the time that I really ought to try and hash it out on the penny whistle.
At half past one, however, my internal ceilidh was interrupted by a suspicious rustling in the bedside table, which turned out on further investigation to be a mouse. Buddug has a habit of leaving her toys lying around, but usually only once the batteries have run out. This one was fully functional, and proved difficult to evict although I did succeed eventually, banishing it downstairs to live with all the other escapees behind the desk in the hallway.
For about half an hour after that, my head was blissfully free of song, but also reluctant to surrender to sleep. Then like a switch, the music came back on, only this time it was Tom Waits singing Jersey Girl.
Now, this probably would have been all right, if he'd gone on to do a few other numbers. I can think of worse ways to escape to the land of nod. But no. He just wanted to sing Jersey Girl, over and over again. And not the whole song either. Just a few snippets repeated until they got really annoying. Sha la la la la la.
At some time around three I must have finally drifted off to sleep, only to wake a good ten minutes before the seven o'clock alarm with Tim Finn singing 'Suicide on Downing Street' from his eponymous album. It's not a song I listen to often - I had to go and check which album it was from and what it was called. I just had the refrain 'Derek Bainbridge did not die in vain' going round and round my tired and fuddled brain.
I know there's no hope for me when I start waking up with Carol Decker from T'Pau.
That's odd for me. I'm normally a hearty sleeper, and much more practised at it than most people. Maybe it's all my unhealthily bottled-up stress at the imminent house move that's making me restless at night, or it could be something else entirely. Perhaps I used up all my life sleep-allocation as a teenager and now like Mr X I don't need it at all anymore.
Whatever the reason, last night was a particularly bad example. I went to bed around midnight and read until sometime before one. For the next half hour I lay in the dark with the music for an eightsome reel going around in my head.
I've no idea why an eightsome reel - there was certainly nothing in the book to subliminally suggest it. Sitting at my desk here this morning, I can't actually recall the tune at all, yet last night I had it note perfect. I remember thinking at the time that I really ought to try and hash it out on the penny whistle.
At half past one, however, my internal ceilidh was interrupted by a suspicious rustling in the bedside table, which turned out on further investigation to be a mouse. Buddug has a habit of leaving her toys lying around, but usually only once the batteries have run out. This one was fully functional, and proved difficult to evict although I did succeed eventually, banishing it downstairs to live with all the other escapees behind the desk in the hallway.
For about half an hour after that, my head was blissfully free of song, but also reluctant to surrender to sleep. Then like a switch, the music came back on, only this time it was Tom Waits singing Jersey Girl.
Now, this probably would have been all right, if he'd gone on to do a few other numbers. I can think of worse ways to escape to the land of nod. But no. He just wanted to sing Jersey Girl, over and over again. And not the whole song either. Just a few snippets repeated until they got really annoying. Sha la la la la la.
At some time around three I must have finally drifted off to sleep, only to wake a good ten minutes before the seven o'clock alarm with Tim Finn singing 'Suicide on Downing Street' from his eponymous album. It's not a song I listen to often - I had to go and check which album it was from and what it was called. I just had the refrain 'Derek Bainbridge did not die in vain' going round and round my tired and fuddled brain.
I know there's no hope for me when I start waking up with Carol Decker from T'Pau.
Comments
Not unless you've got room for a much bigger bed in the new house.