This week I had a thought...
When I was young, I used to love reading in bed. My parents used to tell me off repeatedly for this, saying I needed to get to sleep, but there was something about the scandalous activity, the trepidation of listening for the creak of parental footsteps on the stairs whilst also being fully emerged in the world I was reading about.
The thing is, I don't understand why it was considered so bad, children should, in my opinion, be encouraged to read, and reading has always helped me to fall asleep, even with the most exciting book this can happen if I'm exhausted!
I learned from a young age that the click of the bedside light being turned on and off alerted my parents to my reading, so I hurdled the obstacle by bringing a torch to bed, hiding it underneath the bed in the day. The unfortunate evening would come when the touch would start to flicker, I'd have to continually remove the batteries, rub them together, blow on them, anything to try and keep the light going until the chapter of the book finished. Some nights I resorted to reading by the crack of light from the landing stabbing into my bedroom. Maybe that's the reason I have to wear glasses now! My challenge the following day would be to smuggle new batteries, either from the junk drawer in the kitchen, or (more often) by swapping them in the TV remote.
If I finished a book before I was ready to fall asleep, to cheer myself up from 'end-of-story-depression' I'd get out of bed, nip to the bookcase and choose a book to start reading the following night, maybe reading the blurb on the back or the notes from the author at the beginning of the book that evening to get the excitement flowing.
Sometimes, I'd get so hot from reading under the covers that I'd literally have to come up for air!
Another fated issue was a sibling going on a midnight trip to the loo and noticing my light on, then trying to convince them in stern whispers and having to bribe them not to tell my parents.
Does all this sound similar? Did you also read 'Goosebumps' or other horror stories and then end up giving yourself nightmares?
When I was young, I used to love reading in bed. My parents used to tell me off repeatedly for this, saying I needed to get to sleep, but there was something about the scandalous activity, the trepidation of listening for the creak of parental footsteps on the stairs whilst also being fully emerged in the world I was reading about.
The thing is, I don't understand why it was considered so bad, children should, in my opinion, be encouraged to read, and reading has always helped me to fall asleep, even with the most exciting book this can happen if I'm exhausted!
I learned from a young age that the click of the bedside light being turned on and off alerted my parents to my reading, so I hurdled the obstacle by bringing a torch to bed, hiding it underneath the bed in the day. The unfortunate evening would come when the touch would start to flicker, I'd have to continually remove the batteries, rub them together, blow on them, anything to try and keep the light going until the chapter of the book finished. Some nights I resorted to reading by the crack of light from the landing stabbing into my bedroom. Maybe that's the reason I have to wear glasses now! My challenge the following day would be to smuggle new batteries, either from the junk drawer in the kitchen, or (more often) by swapping them in the TV remote.
If I finished a book before I was ready to fall asleep, to cheer myself up from 'end-of-story-depression' I'd get out of bed, nip to the bookcase and choose a book to start reading the following night, maybe reading the blurb on the back or the notes from the author at the beginning of the book that evening to get the excitement flowing.
Sometimes, I'd get so hot from reading under the covers that I'd literally have to come up for air!
Does all this sound similar? Did you also read 'Goosebumps' or other horror stories and then end up giving yourself nightmares?
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