I knew that it was inevitable and that I would be poorly over the Christmas break. After pushing myself for a few months and despite the advice of others, I have ignored the need for some rest before now. I figured that as Christmas was 4 days off this year, that I would wait until then but I have taken double that time because of being in bed with the worst body aches, shivers and sweats I have had for years.
I am not very good at being ill (mind you, who is?) but when you live by yourself it can make you feel all the more lonely. Just wanting that certain someone to pop their head around the door to check you are ok, someone to bring food and drink when you legs just won't hold you up and someone to cuddle and ease you to sleep.
Last night I couldn't sleep, partly because of the constant cough but also because I was panicking and thinking about work and what I need and still have to do. A vicious circle because I could not relax and I coughed more. But, it made me think to when I was poorly when I was little and the days I would spend at home tucked up in bed. It made me think of stories, bedtimes stories and how I used to love being read to (and still do.)
My nan used to read us stories when we stayed at hers. My stories were all about fairies and magic, whilst my brothers combined all the action heroes working together to save the day. But for the days that I was at home, poorly or if I couldn't sleep, I had my StoryTeller.
StoryTeller came out every fortnight and each was a magazine and tape full of magical stories. It came out between 1982-'85 and I vaguely remember going to the newsagents to collect them - at being 3/4 years old, this might be one of my earliest memories.
In trying to remember some of the characters from the stories, which often featured in more than one issue, I found this on Wikipedia which made the memories come flooding back.
I had all 26 parts of StoryTeller 1 - that is 26 tapes and magazines which I listened to all the time. The Christmas edition was one of my favourites with the adventures of Timbertwig and Bertie's Escapade. I remember loving Bernard Cribbins voice and it sending me to sleep, the same with Shelia Hancocks in the stories
of Gobbolino, the little black witches cat.
I remembered the music, particularly on the ones that I didn't like or thatscared me and the illustrations which varied in style for each story.
I remembered how much I loved snuggling down in my bed, surrounded by teddies with my cassette player, listening to stories, never tiring of hearing them - always knowing when to pause, rewind or fast forward to my favourites. I remember being soothed by stories and new worlds. I am still no different today.
My mum still has the magazines and tapes - am going to make sure I pick them up soon, so that next time I am poorly, or just need some company or sending off to sleep, I can lose myself back in magical worlds.