A difficult and onerous task faced me today: going to mum's bank to register my lasting power of attorney. First I had to find the place in a town not familiar to me, though in the event Google maps came through for me. Once in the bank the mechanics of the process were not particularly hard, but the emotional overlay, the underlying significance of the occasion cast a deep shadow, which I think perhaps embraced the pleasant female assistant manager who dealt with my case.
My gloom lifted entirely on the return journey, however. Radio 4 broadcast Richmal Crompton's deathless piece of prose: "Mr and Mrs Pennyman Pass on the Torch", beautifully read by Martin Jarvis. If I may lapse into textspeak, I LOL'd several times during the reading, and I was transported briefly to my childhood, where the "Just William" tales afforded me endless hours of pleasure.
I have already mentioned Frank Richards' "Billy Bunter" and Anthony Buckeridge's "Jennings" stories in these pages, but I have been remiss in not mentioning hitherto these classics of children's fiction. If you journeyed through your childhood without these friends by your side, especially the inimitable William, I pity you.
Radio 4 followed this up with a 15 minute spot on insomnia; a fascinating little journey through the agony of this most human of conditions. Proust was an insomniac, so was Dickens, the Brontes and Sylvia Plath. But they should have mentioned Richard Gwyn. His semi-autobiographical novel "The Vagabond's Breakfast" contains within its pages one of the greatest expositions on this subject to be found anywhere in literature. It is gripping, intriguing and terrifying. I Thank God every day that I have never really had a problem with that slide into death-like unconsciousness that is a good night's sleep...
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