Friday 11 May 2012

Honking like a duck in The British Library

In the British library, I am trying not to cough and thereby incite annoyance in the studious and further distraction the not so studious, who are whispering to each other and fidgeting with each other and on their phones. Yes, you over there. I have lost my voice, so I am in the right place. Everyone whispers here. Mostly when they shouldn't. My little daughter is intrigued by non-voice. Where has it gone? Will it return? I see her little mind ticking over. Has it gone shopping? What was its mode of transport? Did it fly to its goneness or take the imaginary pink car (a box) stuffed with Barbies, some headless, some limbless, some who have had their faces chewed by the baby, who are always going to the palace, often early in the morning before I have had my coffee (I am always invited) and frankly, given the state of the Barbies, I would probably fit in quite well because I don't mean to honk on (the only other mode my non-voice does is honk like a duck) but I am more dishevelled than usual, and if my face was chewed off I probably wouldn't notice. The baby regularly gnaws at my face and it is usually not until his new four teeth have touched bone that I cotton on, given that the appearance of those teeth caused a sleep deficit that took me beyond being in the red to total witlessness.

Cinderella has lost her head and doesn't even acknowledge that dishes are necessary at all, neither the ones in the dishwasher, nor the piled ones that are becoming interesting sculptures in the corner. Food can be prised from the fridge and emptied directly into ones face. Prince Charming has become Prince Alarming - he rises at dawn to the sound of an alarm, breakfasts with the nippers, giving me some time in me slippers (thank you my prince! I love you more than the prince I loved that was purple and made doves fly. Do-be-do-be-do! Much, much, more) before bursting out the door and turning into a pumpkin or something. Honestly what he does with those wires is a mystery to me. They do make vast pretty patterns on those boards though and apparently make television studios function. Hardworking Prince and I are not functioning so well, though we are laughing as much as ever, though I suspect our laughter is tinged with lunacy. He is working over time, under time and all around time, to raise a deposit for our house.

Chugging on A40 air at home, I fantasize about this new house and this new life and how we will have a whale of a time in peaceful, lilty, Wales. But am I addicted to The Vortex of Chaos in which I live? What will I do with Peace and Quiet? Who are those two? Will they be two monster fellows that bellow SILENCE! in my ears? Yesterday, the two littlies slept SIMULTANEOUSLY! I literally did not know what to do with myself. Obviously, I should have written more of this very serious, literary and life-changing work of art that I now no longer have before me because I am writing this. No. Overwhelmed by choice, I sat there for a good ten minutes staring into the middle distance before falling asleep on the sofa. And now I am in the British Library. A serious place. For serious stuff. Blogging. It is fast becoming my serious stuff. Oh stuff it. What can I do? It seems its all I can do.