A brain filled broken night's sleep that is. You know the one where your brain plays tricks and becomes very active and you just can't turn off.
On Wednesday night I went to bed at the usual time, read a couple of chapters of a book about Oppenheimer and then just couldn't get to sleep. I eventually did but then woke up at 4 am and couldn't get back to sleep for sometime. As morning light approached I did get back to the world of nod for a short while and then felt rough when I woke up again.
I wonder if it was brought about due to being frustrated on the computer right up until it was time for bed. I have been trying to upload a podcast put together by myself and Sophie Stanley about the 100th edition of Hethersett Herald.
A few years ago I did a series of podcasts on my personal channel using a programme called Anchor. When I tried to download Anchor to put the new podcast on I found it had been taken over by Spotify. So far so good. I downloaded the new podcast app and uploaded our file and it seemed to disappear. I was sent an email asking me to verify my email address which I did and my old podcast site kept coming up and I couldn't find any way to upload to that. I think my various email addresses and passwords are in conflict. Sometimes I hate technology.
As a result of that I guess my brain was too active when I went to bed. I really should take my own advice and come off computers at least an hour before going to bed. But that doesn't explain why I was also awake so early. Too many things flying through my head I guess.
*. *. *
Sometimes really random stuff flies through my mind. I mentioned above the land of nod and yesterday afternoon for no reason at all the names Wynken, Blynken and Nod came to mind. I know not why, apart from them being characters from the deepest recesses of my childhood mind.
So I looked it up. It wasn't a television programme featuring puppets as I had suspected but a poem. This is what I found.
Wynken, Blynken, and Nod" is a poem for children written by American writer and poet Eugene Field and published on March 9, 1889. The original title was "Dutch Lullaby". The poem is a fantasy bed-time story about three children sailing and fishing among the stars from a boat which is a wooden shoe. The names suggest a sleepy child's blinking eyes and nodding head. The spelling of the names, and the "wooden shoe," suggest Dutch language and names, as hinted in the original title.
It's a kind of Victorian "In the Night Garden." If you are the remotest bit interested, the poem is reproduced later in this blog as it is way out of copyright.
If you've never seen the children's programme In The Night Garden I would urge you not to bother. It's a kind of follow up from the Teletubbies and that was bad enough. Give me Postman Pat and Fireman Sam any day of the week. I understand that Mrs Goggins is due for a payout from the post office after being wrongly accused in the Horizon scandal. Note - Mrs Goggins is the postmistress in Postman Pat. He always addresses her as Mrs Goggins. She always addresses him as Pat and never Mr Clifton. It's an age thing I believe from a bygone day. I can't help wondering though where Mr Goggins is. Did he die or perhaps he ran off with the village schoolmistress.
The post office scandal all seems to have gone quiet. It probably hasn't but the BBC have gone onto weightier matters like whether Prince Harry spent 30 or 45 minutes with his father during his flying visit. Nicholas Waffle apparently has his calculator out and will give us the definitive answer as soon as he has found out how to use it.
Anyway here's the poem. It has been set to music and recorded by many people and that might be where I remember it from.
Wynken, Blynken, and Nod one night
sailed off in a wooden shoe --
Sailed on a river of crystal light,
into a sea of dew.
"Where are you going, and what do you wish?"
the old moon asked the three.
"We have come to fish for the herring fish
that live in this beautiful sea;
Nets of silver and gold have we!"
said Wynken, Blynken, and Nod.
The old moon laughed and sang a song,
as they rocked in the wooden shoe,
And the wind that sped them all night long
ruffled the waves of dew.
The little stars were the herring fish
that lived in that beautiful sea --
"Now cast your nets wherever you wish --
never afraid are we";
So cried the stars to the fishermen three:
Wynken, Blynken, and Nod.
All night long their nets they threw
to the stars in the twinkling foam --
Then down from the skies came the wooden shoe,
bringing the fishermen home;
'Twas all so pretty a sail, it seemed
as if it could not be,
And some folks thought 'twas a dream they'd dreamed
of sailing that beautiful sea --
But I shall name you the fishermen three:
Wynken, Blynken, and Nod.
Wynken and Blynken are two little eyes,
and Nod is a little head,
And the wooden shoe that sailed the skies
is a wee one's trundle-bed.
So shut your eyes while Mother sings
of wonderful sights that be,
And you shall see the beautiful things
as you rock in the misty sea,
Where the old shoe rocked the fishermen three:
Wynken, Blynken, and Nod.
*. *. *
You know how fed up you are with the news when the other four fifths turns the channel over to the African Cup football semi final to watch Nigeria beat South Africa. That's what happened on Wednesday evening. Perhaps it was more likely that we were just so fed up with adverts for funerals and life insurance. These seem to get more chirpy by the minute as if a funeral is a fun event.
"Do you think about yours" a man inquires as if he's talking about a coming birthday.
"Oh yeah I want the bunting out and a real celebration" replies his mate as if it's a coronation.
"Well it is your day," comes the response.
Then we have another one:
"I want to be buried in my Mansfield kit," says a man.
"You're not being buried in that," says a woman who is playing his wife. Sadly these people and their jolly funeral japes are all actors.
Then we have Carol Vorderman of the enhanced breasts and ever youthful look despite the fact that she's now 105 (actually I exaggerate as she's only 63. I know that because I looked it up);. She's flogging life insurance just in case you pop your clogs any time soon. It's all quite amusing if it wasn't so depressing.
*. *. *
And so to my 100 word story which I read at writers' club. It's not really a story but follows a theme I seem to take up regularly in my writing. But first the 100 words and then an explanation.
Lewis Barrett would go far his teachers said.
Louis to his friends, was educated at Oxford and became a civil servant and ambassador, travelling the world. Louis was a man of stature, became a freeman of London in recognition of his benevolence and for setting up a number of schools for the poor.
Now Louis sits alone most of the day. His friends are gone along with his beloved Dora. His children and grandchildren visit regularly but he doesn't know them. To Louis they are strangers and Louis is now a stranger to them.
"He's lost his mind," they say.
And now the explanation. Writing something in 100 words is difficult. There's just too few words to develop anything.
Obviously this is about dementia, a subject I have touched on in the past. The theme is complex and one I have explored before - the fact that the person in front of us may not be the person we are seeing. Let me explain. In my piece Louis is obviously suffering from advanced dementia. This is how the world sees him - an elderly man who in many people's eyes has lost his mind.
Our awareness of dementia has improved so much in the past few years that thankfully phrases such as "lost his mind," "feeble minded" "gone gaga" and many more are no longer used. People no longer suffer with or from dementia, they are said to be living with the illness. This definition is important as it implies living a life with a specific condition rather than suffering from it.
But my short piece points out that previously Louis was an outstanding member of society. So there's the great comparison between his past life of achievement and his present existence.
But the Louis that people see is the man in a chair rather than the dashing man about town. Those seeing Louis probably have no idea about his glorious past.
This is another theme in my writing. The person that you see may not be the person you think they are. My story is 100 words but my explanation of it is already much longer. I hope in some small way I have been able to write quite a deep and meaningful piece in just 100 words and this is a theme I'm going to develop either tomorrow or in a few days' time. Please do let me know whether I've achieved anything in 100 words.
One final thought for today. The piece is divided into two sections - the past and the present. But which one have a devoted the most words to. And I was surprised to find that they were pretty equal. The first part has 53 words and the second part 47. I think that inadvertently I have given equal importance to both parts of Loui's life, therefore saying that despite now being inactive his life is still important but in a different way.
For me the 100 words started off as a challenge with the idea of writing something pretty frivolous. Instead I think I've penned something a lot more serious.
Incidentally the first part is based loosely on one of my great great great uncles Frederick Duncan Dew. One day I will bring you his rags to riches story which saw him go from a humble servant to a pub owner in London and a leading freemason who was awarded the freedom of the capital
See you all tomorrow when I will divulge why somebody referred to me as having boy like effervescence (or something like that) and how a major project is on the pint of being realised.