Bit of a rush today as I need to clean the house before our new cleaner arrives. That said, I mustn’t make it too obvious (so will place a rogue teaspoon in the sink).
Fortunately I can manage this (on top of the other daily messing about) because the current full moon puts me in such a state of restlessness that I have excess energy with which to run around the house concealing dusty things. ("Why doesn’t Lolabell just dust them?” I hear you ask. That would be too predictable and far less fun, dear reader. Just live a little.)
Unfortunately, with the surplus energy comes a surprising drive to undertake daredevil antics, like opening the dishwasher five minutes after the cycle is underway (usually to throw the toothbrush pot into the Dishwashing Disco).
I am currently having a herbal tea to calm the effects of a particularly aggressive coffee, as it will come as no surprise that my sleeping is affected too. To get to sleep, I count Take That, though it takes less time that before. One Take That; two Take That; three Take That. See? Done. “Have a little patience,” my husband says. God bless you, one, two, three (four and five).
Lying there, in the hushed nighttime house, my mind darts from one thought to another. Last night I realised I had never seen James Bond set an alarm clock. How does he get up for work on time? And who can I write to, to have this oversight rectified in every, single Bond film?
When the full moon strikes, we try different things to drain excess energy, like watching ‘Titanic’ or going to Ikea. Results are mixed, though, and we now have more Ikea tea lights than a fortune-teller could use in a lifetime (though at least all the Christmas gifts are now sorted).
When I get like this, I scurry around looking for distractions. During mild weather earlier this week, I wielded my special garden sticky-stick and attacked the weeds. Wrenching out a particularly tenacious dandelion, I suddenly understood how my beauty therapist feels.
Recognising my need for a distraction, yesterday my husband thoughtfully popped up to the loft, to get me some Christmas lights to untangle. (He also suggested that I go for a run, but I have already done that this year.)
Lolabell Peagreen's Annual Run
If I were a ten year old with energy to burn, I would simply go out and play with my friends. When did we stop doing that? Can we no longer play ‘hide and seek’ or ‘among us’, or make up songs for a show we would later make the children watch (and if any of the grown-ups were too shy to sing, they could colour-in the programmes instead)?
What would the reaction be, I wonder, if I rang a couple of doorbells and asked if the women were free for a game?
“Can you come out to play?” I ask somewhat self-consciously, shifting from one foot to the other and looking gingerly around to see if there is someone lurking in the hallway, waiting to be asked permission.
“Play?” says the bewildered friend, as she stands in the doorway having been interrupted mid-dishwasher unload, already peeved upon discovering that the toothbrush pot didn’t make it. “What do you mean?”
You see, we’ve forgotten how to play. Our skillset no longer includes building a den out of leaves without noticing how wet we’re getting, or running away so fast during ‘hide and seek’ countdown that the crisp, autumn air scratches our throats. We are so preoccupied by working to heat houses that we’ve forgotten how to play houses, how to make snacks out of rocks and how to ‘drive’ around the garden where the climbing frame is pre-school, and the bins are the shops. Are we so busy trying to do right by the children around us that we’ve forgotten what it’s like to be one?
Wow, that was a deep thought at this time of night; I’m exhausted. Time to count Take That and hopefully fall asleep; stardust under the stardust.
Author’s note: ‘The Adventures of Lolabell Peagreen’ will shortly offer paid subscriptions, benefitting from regular funny stories and access to the full archive. A selection of Lolabell’s adventures will of course continue to be available to free subscribers. I am trying to take myself seriously as a writer (although whether one should take oneself seriously at all is an excellent question, and possibly the reason we have ended up in this grown-up mess to begin with).
For now, though, let me push a far more worthy cause:
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And if you haven’t already, why not tonight?
