The New Regime

'You look wrecked,' Hodmandod Senior declared this morning as I made my usual reluctant shuffle towards the breakfast table. I chose to ignore this sadly accurate comment and remarked instead upon the inclemency of the weather.

'Windy, couldn't sleep, worried, global warming.' I told my single Weetabix, 'Besides - things go through my mind.'

I then explained that the other night I was passing the sitting room on my way up to my study when I happened to see the middle of a programme called 'Honey, we're killing the kids,' in which parents were shown the effects of their decadent and desultory lifestyle on the lifespan of their offspring. It was not pleasant and even though I don't smoke, and do take lots of exercise, read books and try to restrict the intake of fatty and sweet foods in the Hodmandod diet I have to admit that there are maternal shortfalls. I do not take Hodmandod Junior out to clubs any more because he never much liked anything that involved interacting with his fellow Homo sap, and he does tend to follow my example by spending excessive amounts of time on the computer until late at night. The result of this, according to Hodmandod Senior, is my inability to sleep more that three hours a night and Hodmandod Junior's tendency to take the 'bare minimum' approach in his work for school.

Anyway, Hodmandod Senior then drew himself up to his full height (well as much as he could while still seated) and declared (or rather suggested, the Hodmandod pen being a democracy) a computer curfew - all machines are to be switched off at 9.30pm and I am to get up at the same time as him in the morning - 6.30am. This is clearly unnatural behaviour for an owl whose most creative time seems to be from 4.30 - 6.30am (whereupon she goes back to bed) but I am willing to give it a try. 'You'll get more done,' Hodmandod Senior promised, picking his way through my assorted bags and books that have littered the hall for the past few weeks. I do hope he's right.