Occasional tedious ramblings from a feminist, atheist, autistic academic and historic narrow boater who likes cats, beer, tea, and solitude, and is strangely fascinated by the cinema organ.
Sunday, 28 March 2010
Reading Blossom's post about Marmite the other day inspired me to add it to the shopping list the next time Jim went into Penkridge. And then it happened that I found myself awake in the early hours of Wednesday morning, and feeling slightly peckish.
Now, if I'd been at home, I wouldn't have done anything about it. I'd have lain there tossing and turning and worrying about the sleep I was losing... Because getting up might mean disturbing the rest of the household, and getting a snack would mean getting out of my nice warm bed, with the heating off, and going down to the cold, dark kitchen.
But on Chertsey it was nice and warm (slightly too warm, if truth be told) so I took a step across the rug to throw a couple of lumps of coal on the fire and put the kettle on, then went back to bed, from where I reached down to my left to get the bread and butter out of its nice cool spot under the side bed, then up to my right to get a plate and knife and the Marmite out of the table cupboard, and was soon enjoying a midnight feast of a Marmite sandwich and a cup of tea tucked up in bed, and finally finished the very tedious P.D. James book I'd been reading, before eventually retiring back to sleep at half past four. And when I awoke again at six to the birds singing and the light coming through the bulls eye, I didn't feel any the worse for my midnight sojourn.
(Jim, in case you were wondering how I managed this, was very generously billetted on another boat for the duration.)