Winter’s Tales

I have this Winter fantasy of hibernation.  To sleep with the depth and twelve-hour commitment of a teenager in a soft, warm bed, lulled by the pattering of sleet on the window pane.

I do believe that once as a school girl, I spent an entire half term of relentless rain reading in bed. If only I could have known at the time what a rare and unparalleled privilege that was.

Ever since then there has always been Something To Do.

And my powers of slumber have also weakened. Given an eight-hour sleep opportunity I find myself only half submerged in shallow dreams.

So if I can’t doze the long winter nights away, I shall have to while them away with stories, as was once the tradition before TV.  Already this winter, I have read so many, including, inappropriately, The Summer Book, by Tove Jansson.

And this weekend, I shall take it a step further.  Together with my writers’ group, BeauSandVer Writers, we are gathering at nightfall and reading aloud eight tales in an hour at our wonderful local Oxfam Bookshop.  

Organising this event has been enough to wake even me up!

Please come along if you’re in the St Albans area.