January 21st 2013
All together - aaha, aaha, aahaa....
I love The NeverEnding Story. It's not a film I watch a lot or even know particularly well. I love it, because it reminds me that my wonderful Daddy used to read it to me before I went to bed.
Who doesn't love being read to? It's just so relaxing. I spend an awful lot of time reading stories these days and it's brilliant. I've honed my Gruffalo voices to perfection, and my How To Grow A Dinosaur is something to behold. Problem is, it's very comfortable in the book corner and I often feel like I'm reading myself the story and have to fight sleep. I'm just too comforting it would appear.
Dad read me some wonderful stories, but only two stick in my head. NeverEnding Story...I have a really clear snapshot memory of looking at him sat next to my bed and seeing the cover, all worn from having been read so many times to two previous children as well. The other is really a set of stories. Ramona Quimby. Oh man, Ramona. Dad had read it to Jen as well, when we saw it had become a film a year or two ago we were determined Dad would have to take us, but I'm not convinced I ever saw it at released at the cinema. Jen, I'm getting the DVD, Dad, you have to watch it whether you like it or not. It is because of Ramona that I will always half believe the words are "Oh, say can you see...by the Dawnzer Lee light?" and smash hard boiled eggs on my head and, at least for a moment, stick a banana sticker on my forehead.
Mum used to tell me stories about Grimble. Grimble was actually the nickname for one of her college friends, but in this instance was used to tell the tale of a young girl remarkably like me. It was such a coincidence, she'd always had a day almost identical to mine. Funny how mums always know a story that you can relate to, isn't it? I loved hearing about Grimble. I'm not sure I ever noticed that her day resembled mine, it was always just too exciting and lovely.
My brother, Stu, is ten years older than me. Teeheehee, it'll never not be funny. The reason I bring it up (this time) is that he was also part of my bedtime routine. Not so much in stories, but he would say goodnight and then walk out of my room and pretend to fall down the stairs whilst I screamed with laughter. At least I think it was pretend. If not, apparently he can withstand cartoon like injuries and come back fresh as a daisy the next morning. Either way, at the time it was hilarious. I think I'd probably find it less funny now. Probably slightly more concerning. But who knows, someone want to come over and pretend (or not) to fall down my stairs and see if it amuses me off to sleep?
That's the end of the story tonight kids, love you lots, sleep tight, don't let the bed bugs bite, and if they do, bite them back! Sweet dreams in the land of nodulups....
Stephanopolous Chips Chops Charlie