Posted by Tania Kindersley.
Because this whole blogging apparatus is very stern, the date at the top of this post will say Saturday, November 20th, and there is not one damn thing I can do to change it. The blogging apparatus does not understand about pushing deadlines or fudging times and dates or just giving an honest girl a break.
None of this would matter except that I have it in my head that there must be a blog every day. (Except on Sundays of course, because I am like those old stores that still shut up shop on a Sunday because it should be a day of rest, whichever deity you pray to.) Today I did not have time, because life got in the way. Now I am lying in bed, thinking if I type fast enough, I can just get it in under the midnight wire, and no one shall be any the wiser.
None of this does matter, but I think it is interesting. Or at least: it is interesting to me, in my own tiny head, where entirely unimportant things take on a disproportionate, looming aspect. It makes me realise that even though I like to pretend all this blogging nonsense means nothing to me, that I do not care when people scoff, as they will, as they must, that it is all just a mere bagatelle, a whim, a caprice, it is of course nothing of the sort. It means enough that I must do it every day, and if I miss a day, there had better be a damn good excuse.
My excuse is that I watched Glee for the first time tonight and those of you who will have seen it will know that that it one episode of that is never enough, and that is why I am late to bed, and the clock has struck midnight, and it is not longer Friday.
On account of the hour, I have few salient thoughts. I like mostly to find some excellent theme for you, and amplify it; I like a coherence; I prefer, if possible, a beginning, middle and end. When there is this much family life, and I get tired and goofy, and I can only summon fleeting thoughts. Tonight those are:
1. I shall never get the Harry Potter thing. I try, because the entire nation and the people I love the most adore the books and the films with a passion. Each time I attempt to see the point, I fall short. I would say it is an each to each thing, except that for those ten of us who do not understand the appeal, it is not each to each at all. We are transgressives, and there is no health in us. As a result, I find myself a little defensive whenever the subject comes up.
2. I find it slightly embarrassing that, wherever I am in the world, and however much fun I am having, after about two weeks away I get as homesick for the mountains and my small stone house and my books and my desk and my dogs as if I were still eight years old, being sent away to school. I go all moony and start looking at the north east every time the weather map comes on and begin wondering how my little rowan trees are faring in the frost.
3. There is no way to say this without sounding sentimental or mawkish, but reading a bed time story to a two-year-old is one of the great pleasures of life. (Tonight we had an excellent one about Vincent Van Gogh, which left me a little weepy on account of his being entirely unappreciated during his life time, while the baby was flinty-eyed and ruthlessly concentrating on getting me to read Paddington as well.)
4. Today, my godson made me laugh so much that actual tears came out of my eyes. He is eleven years old. I think it is a great talent to be able to make anyone laugh that hard, however old you are, but at eleven.
5. I really should have a rule that I never write the blog after ten o'clock. Even as I feel my fingers moving over the keyboard, I sense that the words are not necessarily coming out in the right order.
In which case, there must now be pictures. This is what I saw today:
PS. As you see there is general slippage, and I am growing shockingly dilatory, so there has been no polite replying to kind comments. I have to make do with a blanket and heartfelt thank you. As always, they are charming and generous and make me smile.