Saturday, June 09, 2007
With flowers in her hair possibly
It's nearly midnight and I'm lying in bed with the window open. It's a hot night and we have four children sleeping in various berths up here. Now that we've sorted out the mad scarpering from one room to the other and the disputes between those who want the light on and those who want it off, they all seem to be sleeping soundly. I can hear faint but familiar snuffling noises and some unfamiliar little snores. I've just finished a novel about an old lady and a Moroccan called Chérif and I'm starting The Time Traveler's Wife. It's hard going though because an unbelievably loud thumping bass is pouring in the windows. Sandi Thom is doing a free gig a couple of kilometres from our house on the Place de la Victoire. I can imagine the heaving crowds, the sweaty bodies and the music vibrating through them. I'm in bed reading — this must be middle age.
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8 comments:
Regret or relief?
More relief than regret, I think.
It seems I reached middle each a few years early. No more sweaty bodied concerts for me, at least I hope not!!
Were the kids having a sleepover?
In bed reading. I love it. I would so much rather read than go and watch a concert. The only exception to that was the night we saw Ali Farke Touré in Ouagadougou. Other than that I have been solidly middle-aged since about the age of 22.
Casting mind back to the time I had three children of six and under, there is a blank.
I think one is in a state of catatonic exhaustion and even a quiet drink and rational conversation in a bar with a friend (let alone a concert) is another world.
Princesse Ecossaise: Yes it was a sleepover: a brother and sister almost exactly the same age as our two. Can't wait till they invite our two to sleep over at the same time!
Sarah: We've been listening to Dabé Touré over and over in the car recently.
Deborah:Next time someone asks how I am, I'm going to say fine if you discount my "catatonic exhaustion".
We spent months winding-up our son about me and his Dad going to Glastonbury this year.
His first objection was that we are too old. When we pointed out that load of people our age go to Glasto he said "Yeah. But they're not my parents."
Don't think I could cope with the inevitable mud, anyway.
Years ago at Glastonbury, an American acquaintance ( this was in the Reagan years) came and asked his mother along. She was actually a very fine, nice woman who pottered about quite independently enjoying herself.
Someone said to him ' _, it's just about OK for Americans to come to Glastonbury, but NOT for them to bring their mothers!'
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