Awfulness, by the back door

Have you ever been betrayed? Let down; expecting something – a mundane matter, even a regular routine – and it not happening? Being left confused and self-pitying.

No?

Here’s “betray”: to be a traitor to; to deliver (somebody or something) by treachery; to deceive or be disloyal to…

Still no? It is, after all (and thankfully), a fairly rare experience. This morning, I was betrayed and it was horrible.

An hour ago the world changed. From a deep sleep I woke up, rolled over to inspect the digital clock: 08.34. And I knew! Immediately! Hair frowzled, still in my PJs, I stumbled out of bed, crossed the landing into my study, turned on the PC, and there was V – my singing teacher – telling me it was no big deal, the hour had “gone on” the previous day, to go back to bed and, and we’d re-schedule for Wednesday.

Comforting words but it was a big deal. I’d been betrayed by my body and this shouldn’t have been a surprise. In five months’ time I’ll be ninety. No felicitations, please. In extreme old age the unexpected changes are the killers.

On Monday, January 4 2016 I had my first private singing lesson and halfway through I burst into tears at the sense of revelation. Subsequently I’ve bored the pants off Tone Deaf followers detailing this ongoing process that – I suppose – was, and is, ultimately incommunicable. As with this present post.

Back then weekly lessons were at the piano in V’s living room. The pandemic forced us to use the indirect system of Skype, V moved house, and the lessons have continued, always on Mondays, always at 8.30 AM.

But always I was awake well before, two hours in fact. Time enough to shave, get dressed, raise the blinds, comfort the other V, my wife, in the aftermath of her illness, ease myself into the world of classical music via performances on YouTube, and afterwards off to the supermarket, preparation of meals and the etceteras.

There’s a further irony. My previous trade – journalism – was framed by deadlines. Never previously have I overslept, either professionally or socially. Ever!

Will I wake up in time next Wednesday? Now there’s apprehension...

YEAH: The obvious solution: an alarm clock. That's worked in the past - I've spent the whole night awake, waiting for the thing to go off. Infallible.