There are many books I'm embarrassed to admit I haven't read. Catch 22 being a case in point. I can now announce that I have read it and despite the book being fabulous, I'm utterly knackered and more than just a little bit resentful.
You see, I've been away on the annual "give mother a rest" camping sojourn to the North York Moors with my kids who are exquisitely attuned to the passing of day and night.
At home we interfere in this diurnal influence by way of blackout curtains and double glazing. In a tent however, with two gossamer layers, the chimps stir at daybreak at the same time the sheep start to honk their non-baa baa's.
Ordinarily we all go to sleep at the same time on these trips. This damned book however, kept me up into the wee hours, bloody thing. Anyway, I'm back now and settled on the couch for a little light blogging whilst my rested wife cooks dinner for us all.
The highlight of our break was catching the steam train from Pickering and spending the day hopping on and off to Whitby and back. The sprogs enjoyed the clackety-clack. I enjoyed exploring the quiet rotting areas behind the stations and engine sheds where age old machinery returns slowly to the earth.