Wednesday, October 30, 2013

Wings, soporific and stoicism

For want of a new photograph or two this pigeon from the archive must do.

In blank moments before sleeping a sure soporific I have found is to  to plan a formal address.  The first few clich├ęd words suffice, accompanied in my imagination by  a pompous and rather patronising tone of voice. Thus: 
                                    My friends ...
                                    My dear friends ....
                                    My lords, ladies and gentlemen ...
                                    Workers of the World, Oppressed multitudes, Downtrodden, Wretched of the Earth, join me now in one mighty roar of protest, one cry for freedom, fairness, f.....
Sleep invariably follows.

"Never complain. Never explain." has always seemed to me  to be a good piece of stoic advice, and one which I try to follow  daily as I grow older. However sometimes explanations press forward. Why for example are you  walking about the house stiff and upright as a pieceof  lead piping, with an  unsmiling expression not far removed from the rear end of a Chieftan tank ? And if you explain that every time you turn  your head, it feels as though someone has struck you with a hefty chunk of mountain, while at the same time playing one of The Rolling Stones' more exuberant pieces at full volume? Well, you have ignored one part  of the maxim in pursuit  of the other. Some stoic!
                                   


1 comment:

Roderick Robinson said...

I mentioned in my most recent post that I nodded off during the early part of Shostakovich's The Nose in which the action and the music were nowhere near as stimulating as the latter two-thirds of this agreeable opera. I'm not sure there is any known specific against this happening since the feeling of slipping away is so seductive. However, reversing the recommendations you make above I find myself having second thoughts. Trying to re-create the address I made at my own wedding (I blush even to write those words) might well keep sleep at bay, so well, in fact, that the sense of trauma might become permanent. A last resort perhaps