The Imps of Weariness

Thursday August 17, 2006

Today the wearies came calling. Nasty, grey, spiteful little rotters, like the CGI imps they love so much in FX movies these days. They waited for me at every turn, leaping out with great, toothless yawns, doing all they could to divert me from the things I needed to do and persuade me to simply give up and sleep.

I can’t say the attack was unexpected. I’ve been sailing along day after day on the winds of determination and will-power, and I’ve seen the end of long, hard projects often enough to know about the let-down that follows on their successful completion.

The unfortunate events of the day, which in normal times would be no more than minor inconveniences, took on major proportions any one of which could so easily have made me give in to the urge to stop, sleep, eat, sleep, and sleep some more.

A torrential downpour kept me in the caravan this morning much later than I’d have liked. When I got to Sainsbury’s, it was to find that the sandwich counter had broken down and that it required a Herculean struggle to get to the improvised alternative. When I got to the house, it was to find that the broadband connection was down, like enough because the downpour had flooded some underground sub-station or other… oh, it all mounted up. You know that kind of day.

I kept my strength of purpose together long enough to achieve the main objective of the day—getting in touch with the removal company to fix a moving-in day. They have agreed to move our stuff from the store and into the house on Wednesday, September the 6th. That’s Graham’s normal day off, and he has jigged his staff rotas to enable him to take the following day off, too. In two days we can get ourselves settled in, all the white goods hooked up, and curtains at vital windows. Dolly and I can then get down to the job of turning the place into a home and, two or three weeks later, Graham will join us full time, at least for the autumn and winter months. What next year may bring is a question that can wait.

September 6th is fine by me. I’d sort of hoped for something earlier but I am content. I’ve wanted all along to be away from the holiday camp by September 7th, when it fills with old farties and other unfortunates, and it looks as certain as these things can be that I shall be safe in the house just in time to avoid them. I’ve had my fill of holiday camps.

I got my sleep ration in the afternoon and early evening, and managed to watch the last episode of I, Claudius in uninterrupted bliss. I’ve really enjoyed watching it, even in these circumstances, and shall gift myself with a boxed set of the DVDs in time to enjoy it all over again during the winter.

My main birthday present was a splendidly packaged boxed set of all twelve episodes of Rome, so I plan to keep my Ancient Rome kick going, starting tomorrow and watching one episode a day.

Before the screening of I, Claudius, at nine o’clock, I went up to the camp laundromat to wash a load of laundry and set it to dry. When I got back after the TV programme it was to find that some careless person had opened the door of the drier and left it open, with the timer ticking away. I found my washing still wet and my money all gone. I obtained another token, set the drier to running, and sat down to keep guard on it. The Imps of Weariness took advantage of the situation of course, with me sitting under flickering fluorescents and watching the Maytag. I darn near nodded off in the chair.

By the time the Maytag had chundered to a stop it was very, very late. I folded the laundered clothes even though they were still damp, put them up in a black plastic sack, and went off to find Graham, who was just closing the Sundowner Bar. We walked down to the caravan together, him carrying the sack, and found Dolly waiting for us. She wasn’t cross, just disappointed.

“This washing isn’t dry enough,” Graham said. “We’ll need to put it round again.”

“Too late now,” I said. “I want my dinner, and I want to go to bed. I’ll finish the drying tomorrow evening.”

“Fair enough,” Graham yawned. “It’ll be good to get our own washer and drier back in action.”

“You’re telling me. I aim to get every last bit of washing done here next week and then, as we produce more, I shall take it over to the house ready for proper laundry. I don’t like these Maytags. Smelly, noisy brutes.”

“Forget about it all for now and eat your dinner. I’ll see if I can find something on TV to help us wind down.”

So we ended up watching a strange movie called Revelation, which covered much the same ground as The Da Vinci Code and then tumbled off to bed. I was too tired to take note of the little CGI imps that gathered chattering around me, sounding like nothing so much as an out of kilter Maytag, victorious at last. Goodness knows what time I’ll get myself into action tomorrow.

I’m afraid I shall have to take a two-day hiatus over the weekend. I’ll be back on Monday morning my time with a three-for-the-price-of-one. By then the Imps of Weariness will be vanquished and I ought to be back on normal form. For now, I’m tired, and I really need to catch up on some rest and recuperation. Keep safe, have a great weekend and if the Imps of Weariness are bothering you, too, I hope you’ll be able to banish them just as I plan to do.

 

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