Roald Dahl in his bestest book the BFG wrote about The Witching Hour. The time when the giants come to eat kids (or give them dreams), at around midnight.
This used to fascinate me totally when I was about five.
But now I’m 25 and I’m afraid that midnight is indoctrinated into my evening’s now. and it doesn’t work so simple as to just shift the witching hour a bit, as I’m often up til very late, or sometimes clubbing until very early.
So I had thought that maybe the witching hour had disappeared, or was even fictional.
Then today I discovered where it is.
I have taken the day off work. I need some coffee, so I head out, but instead of going straight to Sainsbury’s I had a little walk around Islington and discovered that this is the new witching hour.
Being far away from your workplace during the normal hours that you would normally be at work is a bit magical.. It’s a bit quieter, there is no rushing, it’s not a weekend. I can go into shops and not be keeping a nervous eye on watch to get back from lunch.
People seem happier, I found myself whistling. Whistling…
I get home, my mood lifted considerably from my depressive state this morning.
My gladioli seem to be opening up too, I wonder what secrets they have, maybe they are nasty secrets and desrve to be gothy gladioli.
I hope not.