Zzzzzzzzzz

By god I’m tired. The sort of tired that comes from not sleeping properly over multiple nights. I have started to look at soft furnishings in a longing kind of way. Perhaps it’s these balmy Auckland nights we’ve been having, it starts to feel like you're sleeping in a sealed plastic bag some nights.

We had an interesting conversation the other day about what you do to help you fall asleep and I’d be interested to know if anyone else has an unusual example. I’ve heard a couple of good ones – one friend I know imagines that she’s going to open a B&B and itemizes all the fixtures and fittings she’s going to need. Another friend mentally rearranges the furniture in other people’s houses. A third imagines themselves falling off a cliff – I can’t entirely work out how that is peaceful and calming but apparently it works.

I count sheep. That is not entirely accurate. I don’t so much count the sheep as describe them to myself in great detail – colour, height, proportions, size, sometimes they get names… They jump over fences but it’s fair to say that they are not always successful – sometimes it takes them a few times to get over. Don’t worry, no sheep are harmed in the process of my dreaming.
Sometimes we don’t realize quite how odd we are until we say things like this out loud.

To take full advantage of the balmy weather we will no doubt be having a BBQ. Man’s territory apparently although I always seem to be called in to watch the onions or inspect the steak. There comes a certain meat and three veg monotony to the Barbie after a few days, perhaps I need to think it through a little more and branch out. Or just do a rain dance and pray for stirfry.

Not that I couldn’t just stirfry if I wanted to of course – I’m fairly sure it’s not illegal to cook inside on a sunny evening – it’s just that the house is like an oven. The temperature gauge is usually edging towards 30 by the time we get up.

It’s moments like that I’m glad I’m not doing the Edmonds anymore! I have vivid memories of making strawberry jam in the height of summer last year, almost passing out with the heat of it. That’s just what I need, face down in the pan of hot jam much better than a mini peel for the complexion I’m sure.

I keep writing odd, meandering sentences and then deleting them. Sleep deprivation I think. I’ve already saved you from a reflection on where the strawberry sellers magically appear from and a summary of my jam stocks which I have no idea of how to get rid of. I might just have a wee lie down and see if dinner cooks itself