I said in this blog yesterday that I hoped and prayed our fortunes would change in terms of sleep. The night before last we had been up for five hours from mid-night until five in the morning trying to calm a very upset wee man. A truly dreadful night. But I must have sacrificed the right goat or virgin yesterday because last night the Gods smiled on us. After watching some maniac end the world The Chancellor and I collapsed into bed so insanely tired that I was asleep before I could imagine scoring the winning goal in the World Cup final. The next thing I know I am awake and being told that it's a quarter to ten in the morning. Doing some rudimentary sums I realise that I've been allowed to sleep for nearly twelve hours. It's like being a student again.
But with extra time in bed the wee man is extra hungry and has extra energy to tell me all about it. There is a healthy amount of whinging but after twelve hours sleep I am immune. I do yearn though for the days when he can say in his most polite voice, 'Daddy I'm a dash hungry this morning. As I have a penchant for eggs could I have a boiled egg? I only need one egg because one egg is an oeuf.' Ho ho ho. I love crap jokes.
An extended sleep time has brought a hint of civility to the day. The wee man earlier sat quietly leafing through the news review of last weekend's copy of The Observer, looking for inspiration I like to think to the answer to twelve across of the cryptic crossword. As he dives into the paper trying to eat it I realise that this isn't the case. Shame. But we all feel a lot better from the extra few hours of rest and I would love to think that it will happen tonight but deep down know that this won't happen. Bask in the civility while we can because it won't always be like this. I have a dream image of the future where we all sit around on a Saturday afternoon with a different section each of the newspaper occasionally making a frightfully droll comment on the state of country. No harm in dreaming.