Simple facts

I'm a little frazzled and edgy today, the reason being that I'm not sleeping well. And the reason for that in turn is simple: sunrise. I'm always caught a little off-guard at this time of year by the long days. They are wonderful aren't they? But long days imply either early sunrise, late sunset, or both. Early sunrise can be a great thing if you're a farmer readying to milk the cows, a hiker wanting to make as much progress as possible during the cool early daylight hours, or possibly a rodent eager to gather nuts. Late sunset of course means long leisurely nights out.

Less extreme than sleep deprivation, but more insidious, is confusion and disorientation. With years of habits we come to associate certain feelings and activities with certain levels of light. You wake up feelingly like you've just gone to sleep (and you have) -- it should be dark. You're out having far too many drinks after dinner and stumbling home -- it should be dark. You arrive at your first appointment for the day -- it should be light.

One of my vivid memories of my year in London was waking up to broad daylight, feeling tired, and then discovering it wasn't yet 5 am. These are the simple facts as of 1 July:

City	Sunrise	Sunset	Daylight hours
New York	05:29	20:31	15:02
London	04:47	21:21	16:34
Paris	05:51	21:58	16:07
Mumbai	06:05	19:20	13:15

It explains everything, doesn't it? In New York, nights out are dark at this time of year, and I wake up as the sun is on the rise (I'm afflicted with a serious case of early rising.) In London, sun rises at 4.47 am. How does one cope with this? Are drapes heavier? Are sales of eye masks one per man, woman, and child? And Paris, sunset almost 10 pm, with dusk taking you to almost 10.30 pm, those long endless evenings. They were not just figments of your imagination. They really happened. (Well, at least the light. For the rest, I can't say.) And Mumbai, sunrise 6 am. Memories of being woken by the parents as they make their way to play tennis, and deciding since I'm awake and won't get back to sleep I might as well go. Listening to the morning birds. Watching (being blinded by) the rising sun as the game plays out.

It all makes sense.

xo

BB

Trouble sleeping

I've been having trouble sleeping lately, which is just the nearest excuse at hand for my lack of posts over the last week. Normally I'm a good sleeper: 6 hours needed and usually achieved with 6-7 hours in bed. Solidly through the night, into a light sleep early in the morning so I wake up without an alarm most of the time. Isn't life wonderful?

I've already mentioned the birds. Well that singing bird is back, big time. He (she?) is Sinatra (Celine Deon) in Vegas. Really, such sweet song, but at 4.45 am every morning? The other day 4.30!

But what happens these days is that I wake up and look at the clock with those is-it-morning-yet eyes and find it is only 2.00 am! But it seems very bright outside. And when that bird sings, it again seems pretty sunny outside. Does the sun not set in London? Am I being transported to the Arctic Circle while I sleep? Woody Allen couldn't film any late night strolls through London, as he has in New York, at least in this season.

Of course the irony is that in New York, even if it's dark, there are so many things to do at all times of the night. You can sleep, but you don't have to. Here instead, it seems I can't sleep, but wish I could because there's nothing to do after 11 pm. OK, I could go clubbing - but when it's so bright out?

One of these nights I'm just going to get up at 2, dress, and head out for a stroll, and see what it's like. Await future posts.

ZZzzzzzzz

BB



Manhattan, 59th Street Bridge, 6 am. In Allen's forthcoming Central London this scene will be filmed at 2 am.

Jet lag and 3 firsts

I don't usually complain about jet lag, because I don't really suffer from it. I was on flugelbinding trip to the Americas (just when I thought I was out... they pull me back in -- is that quote from The Godfather or Seinfeld?) and got back Saturday morning. I had a busy-ish day cleansing the accumulated pockets of excess papers around the house (my father would be proud!)

In the evening my friend Clementine introduced me to her new bicycle and tried to persuade me to take her old one. I declined (I prefer to walk -- better exercise for point A to point B travel and I'm nervous about bicycling on the streets of London), but I did agree to take it for a spin to join C at a tapas place in Clerkenwell. I was following C through the streets of London as she zigged, zagged, went around a bus, cut through one-way streets, and occasionally through pedestrian sections. I was concerned, alarmed, panicked, thrilled, drained, and pleased to be alive.

This morning I couldn't get up. Must have been the jet lag -- really. I am morning person, without any trouble getting up in the morning. I recall at about 8.30 my apartment was so bright. Then I dozed a bit, and then a bit more. It was not the delicious extra 30 minutes you sometimes steal if you wake up earlier than needed or after your partner has vacated the bed. It was an exhausted, heavy-head sleep. It was like trying to escape quicksand. Finally I did. At 9.30. My father would not be proud.

I went to the market, but more on this later.

After some restorative coffees I went to join my friend Ginny in Islington. I decided to walk. It's a nice walk, but at some point I found myself next to Pentonville Prison. There is a prison in central London? you ask. Yes there is, I reply.

We had a nice cuppa, and now I'm home about to engage in my three firsts for today: the first time I've seen and cooked rhubarb, the first time I've cooked artichoke (the Jerusalem variety), and the first time I've cooked swede (no, not a Swede...)

xoxo

BB