My Little Ramazan - Day Twenty Seven

Mon 6th September 2010

It is the magical time of sunset and I am sitting at my faithful laptop, not with a slap-up meal, but with a truly delightful cup of tea and a stack of Hob Nob biscuits. The slap-up meal may make an appearance later but, for now, this great British tradition is really hitting the spot. Peter Kay wasn’t wrong when he described Hob Nobs as the SAS of the biscuit world. I am dipping to my heart’s content, completely unconcerned about a breaking and sinking situation. You have no idea how happy that makes me right at this moment.

Today should have been a day of full productivity. Baran was off to Nursery early this morning and I left him playing with a herd of sweet-scented My Little Ponies (remember them?), trotting them in and out of their pink fantasy castle. I chose not to share this information with Mustafa, who probably would have turned white with fear on account of how un-macho his son’s chosen play activity was.

When I arrived home I got properly stuck into worky-type stuff and also spent a few hours on some paintings for a new exhibition in a local café. I think perhaps my experiences of Ramazan are flooding into my artwork, as when I looked at the abstract patterns I’d created, I saw a lot of gaping, cavernous holes, akin to the inside of my poor, poor belly. I have no idea whether my subconscious was at work or not, but who cares? The paintings looked quite pretty and hopefully they’ll sell.

But that was where the pause button stuck. By what would usually be the glorious arrival of lunchtime, I was absolutely bushed. I could not understand it. I mean, what had I done? Got a toddler up and taken him to nursery, then spent the morning in front of a laptop and an easel, that’s what. Hardly cause for acute fatigue. But the facts were there. Heavy limbs. Drooping head. Sore eyes. Surely this was not all down to lack of food?

Well, in the broader sense, perhaps it was. The joint arrival of lunchtime and a state of weariness must have been connected. Maybe by wielding that paintbrush all morning, and entering that familiar state of artistic rumination, had connected my subconscious to how I’m really feeling about Ramazan. Sick of it. Sorry everybody, but I am. Yes, it’s connected me with higher goods at times. Yes I am thoroughly, thoroughly grateful for all that I am blessed with. Yes, it has brought me closer to understanding my husband’s religion. But enough’s enough, isn’t it? A girl’s got to draw the line somewhere.

So I drew the line. I drew my duvet up around my ears and was all set on a power nap. Just what I needed to recoup some energy. Some power nap. Four and a half hours later I woke up, startled and scrabbling to get ready to go and pick Baran up. Four and a half hours! And I tell you what, it was four and a half hours of blissful, heavy, warm, contented sleep. Just beautiful. The kind you have on holiday by the pool. For a busy mum of a toddler, it was like being sprinkled with gold dust.

Ok, so I probably haven’t done anywhere near as much work as I should have done and I probably haven’t done the reputation of a self-employed artist much justice. But there were no dodgy aromatic tobaccos involved and understand me here, I needed it. Perhaps the next time I set paintbrush to canvas, it will be the beginning of a genuine masterpiece, a masterpiece to alter the world’s view on art, a masterpiece to alter the world’s view on itself and create a radical new understanding of an ever-changing complex global community, which will be gloriously united by the universal language of aesthetics on one single canvas! And this canvas could never have occurred without the proper sleep quota. This we must agree on.

Until this masterpiece explodes into the world, I have, at least, got Hob Nobs to keep my strength up. If I consume enough of them this evening, who knows what dizzy artistic heights I may reach? And the comforting thing about all of today’s ponderings is, there’s not long to go now. So please join me in saying, or perhaps chanting mantra-style, ‘Hang in there girl’.