… today’s the anniversary of the day when the French peasants stormed the Bastille, the notorious prison in Paris.
The Bastille was originally a fortress built during the Hundred Years War to protect the eastern approaches of Paris from attacks by the English but later on, it was used as a prison. It was also used as a military storehouse, with a large quantity of gunpowder and weapons kept there. The aim of the attackers was to capture these stores and also release the prisoners there.
In respect of the prisoners, they were somewhat disappointed, for they only found seven, and none of them were of any significance.
In contrast to that, very little of what happened during my night last night was lacking in significance. I’d gone to bed at round about 23:00, and I’d fallen asleep quite quickly. But not for long, though. I was wide awake at 00:20, again at 01:45 and a third time at 03:05.
That last time, I didn’t think that I’d ever go back to sleep afterwards, no matter how I tried, but I must have done at some point because when the alarm went off at 06:29, it rocked me to my foundations.
There was the usual struggle for me to rise to my feet, but eventually, I made it into the bathroom to sort myself out.
Back in here, I had a listen to the dictaphone to find out where I’d been during the night.
Having to go to dialysis is not something that I would wish on anyone, especially when it fails so spectacularly as it did in the dream.
But the coughing fit is easy to explain. I had a couple of those during the night, although they weren’t as much of a problem as the usual coughing fits are, so I don’t think that they are related.
It would be interesting to know why, in my room, the power sockets didn’t work but the computer was running and why, in the living room, it was the main lights that had gone out. Still, you don’t expect logic in my dreams, do you?
As for my sister, I’m not sure why she’s there. I’m trying to keep my family away from my subconscious mind.
It seems that I’m not having much luck with my dreams – fading away like this. But who is Doctor Amy Nelson when she’s at home, if she ever is?
Isabelle the Nurse is now off on her break so it was her oppo who came round to see me today, telling me about his week’s break, down in Italy and on the Côte d’Azur. On his way back, he stayed in Clermont-Ferrand, and that made me quite jealous and I began to pine for the Auvergne.
After he left, I could make breakfast and read some more of A HISTORY OF ARCHITECTURE by Charles Freeman.
And having now left behind the “horrors” of Roman and Asian architecture in order to turn his attention to Byzantium, he’s now reverted to his original target of the “heathens”. "Unfortunately the great majority of those who investigate what is called ” classic ground ” devote their whole attention to the remains of heathen antiquity, to the utter exclusion of monuments which are of the highest importance in architectural history, and which may in many cases have been the actual seat of some of the most renowned fathers of the Church … The associations which bind us to the early Eastern Church, the names of her great Bishops and Doctors, seem to be held as nothing compared with the smallest fragment of worn-out heathendom. This exclusive care for what is pagan is at once a mark of an irreligious tendency, and of a forgetfulness of the real nature and value of art."
It’s rather sad to see this kind of polemic in a book like this. I know that it was written in the 1840s but nevertheless, I was expecting much better.
Back in the bedroom, I had a few things to do, but unfortunately, I crashed out and didn’t come round until about 11:15. And then, it took me a good while before I was ready to start work again.
So once the World had stopped spinning round, I turned my attention to the radio programme that I’d started yesterday. Now all of the music has been chosen, reformatted and re-edited, paired and segued, and I’ve even written the notes for some of it. I’ll push on and finish it tomorrow, if I don’t fall asleep for too long during the day.
There was the odd interruption or two during the afternoon, the most important of which was my faithful cleaner coming round to do her stuff. And while she was at it, she shooed me under the shower for a good scrub-up and hairwash, not that I have very much hair to wash these days.
And once again, not only did I go into the shower without any help, I managed to come out of it too, all alone. That’s definitely progress from my point of view and I shall have to keep on practising.
Tea tonight was a taco roll with the rest of the filling that I’d made last week. There wasn’t much of it, so I had to lengthen it, for which I used some mushrooms, tomato and onion. It was all on a plate with rice and vegetables and it tasted really nice. It’s definitely a meal to remember.
But now, I’m afraid that I’m off to bed, to try to have a decent night’s sleep. It’s cooled down somewhat, so you never know. I might be lucky.
But before I go, seeing as we have been talking about the Bastille … "well, one of us has" – ed … one of my friends asked me "Why did the French storm the Bastille on the fourteenth of July?"
"The answer to that is quite simple" I replied. "Seeing as it was a Bank Holiday and all the shops were likely to be closed, and before the days of football and television, they probably had nothing better to do."
